Smallville: For the Love of Chloe Sullivan
by clandestine kryptonian
Summary: 1,000 years after the events of "Finale", Darkseid again threatens Earth. Superman will seek from the past his greatest friend and ally—and her son. Free of the distractions of Lana, Lois, Jimmy, and Oliver, will Fate finally align these two souls' long-crossed stars and bind the hearts of Clark and Chloe in true love, all in the shadow of Earth's greatest struggle for survival?
1. Chapter 1: Destiny

**A/N:** Do I really need to say I don't own _Smallville_? Fine. _Smallville _and all characters depicted therein along with all associated copyrighted material are solely the property of the WB, the CW, Warner Bros., DC Comics, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

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**SMALLVILLE: FOR THE LOVE OF CHLOE SULLIVAN**

by clandestine_kryptonian

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Book 1: Rota Fati – The Wheel of Fate

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Chapter 1: Destiny

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_The wheel of fate has already been set in motion. Even you cannot alter destiny. _– Jor-El; from _Solitude_

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This should not be. But, it is. So much of what had happened should not have. It did anyway. And, now, it has come to this. These same incessant thoughts plagued him, tempted him, taunted him. What could he have done differently? How might he have acted? Or not acted? Could he have prevented this? Could he have prevented any of it? Could any of them have? Or are some things just fated to happen no matter what we do? No matter how we try to change them.

His father (actually just a remnant of a father he never knew) once told him that even he could not alter destiny. But, what if he was wrong? What if we could do things differently? What if we do have the power to prevent what we do not want to see happen and the power to seize upon the things we do? What if it is not that we _can't_, it is simply that we _don't_? That we are, in fact, willing accomplices to our own downfall? That Fate laughs at us, mocks us, taunts us with the other paths we were perfectly capable of choosing as we blindly make our way down the wrong road to failure? Could the world really be so cold? Could Fate really be that cruel? He really wasn't sure which possibility was the worse of the two.

He looked up to a clear blue sky, save for a couple of tiny pockets of white cloud. The sun, high in the sky, burst naked, brazen over the midday scene. He looked down to the soft, green grass gleefully rising up to meet the bright rays of warmth spilling everywhere. Not a solitary patch of unadorned earth could be seen. It was actually quite a gorgeous day. Ever since the day, early in junior year of high school, on which he found out the yellow Sun of the Earth was the source of all his fantastic abilities, days like these gave him such delight. But, today—today he hated the sun and the sky and the grass. It was as if an ungrateful world were completely indifferent to what was happening right now.

Today, one could easily forget that moonless, starless night lit up only by frequent bolts of lightning which accompanied a torrential downpour. That terrible night that stole three precious, heroic lives, irrevocably changing forever every other life those three had touched. One could easily forget all that because today was a perfect day, and there in lay the problem. The rain ought to be still falling hard and merciless like on the day that Whitney Fordman's father was laid to rest, or the way the snow fell coldly all around the day that he had buried Jonathan Kent, the only father he ever knew and loved, the only one who ever loved him. No. Not today. Not even a brief, sharp, overly cool breeze to let us know the earth was in mourning on this so damned _perfect_ day. Today, even Mother Nature herself cruelly mocked her heroes and all their selfless efforts to help and save those in need of it.

A voice that at first seemed so distant that it could only have been heard with his super-hearing pierced and overcame his pensiveness, "…Pater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus."

From all around the black-clad chorus of mourners and payers of respect gave the customary response, "Amen."

Clark Kent focused his attention on the face of the Catholic priest at the head of the crowd, then the simple white robe and white stole he wore, finally the ornate casket that was barely an arm's length from the clergyman as he completed the service and bid the faithful to depart. One last time, Clark honed his super-hearing in on each of the voices that quietly put an end to the sacred silence. Simultaneously, he quickly scanned the crowd, searching, hoping, but to no avail.

A lovely, feminine, yet dignified voice startled Clark out of his intense concentration, "Still expecting to find them? Sorry."

Clark didn't even turn to look as he responded, "It's all right. I just forgot you were there, for a moment."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

Now, Clark turned in the direction of the voice. He paused for a moment to let his eyes take in the features of the beautiful female companion at his side. She effortlessly stood nearly as tall as he did, something very few women could do. Long, flowing hair as black as his own framed a gently smiling face that was virtually without a single flaw. Matching with precision the exact hue of those raven locks was the dress she wore for this solemn occasion, which hinted at the near-perfect body of improbable proportions underneath while not at all drawing undue or unwanted attention to it. Obviously impossible that she could be the result of a pairing of mere mortal, human beings, whether brought together by random chance or by meticulous and deliberate choice, she was an all-together stunning vision that seemed all-together out of place amidst this sorrow.

"No, Diana, I wasn't expecting to find them…here," he answered. As his gaze shifted back to the lonely casket, he added, "I guess I was just hoping for a miracle."

Diana Prince, whom most of the world knew as Wonder Woman, reached for Clark's hand, took it in her own, and gently squeezed, saying, "Don't give up hoping, Kal. Right now, we could use all the help we can get."

Clark nodded in acknowledgement and gave her hand a gentle squeeze of his own before letting go and beginning to make his way through the middle of the dispersing crowd. Diana's eyes followed his dark-clothed figure as it approached the graveside and lowered itself close to the ground, crouching. He placed his hand on the surface of the casket and hoped that somehow, somewhere, his friend heard him, "I am so very sorry, my friend. I'm sorry I wasn't there to save you. I'm sorry I failed you." Clark paused and breathed before continuing, "I know how much you loved them—both of them. So did I. I haven't forgotten." His face became a solid mask of dedicated resolve as he spoke next, "And, I _swear_ to you…this time I will find them, and I will protect them to my dying breath, if I have to. I will not fail you, again. Any of you. Not this time."

As he stood up again to his full, imposing height, Clark didn't need to see to know that Diana had taken her place once again at his side. He had heard her approach. Diana commented, "It's so simple…humble. Not at all what I expected, even then. I thought that he'd go with an ostentatious tomb, some kind of grand monument. Doesn't his family have a private cemetery on the grounds of his estate? They can certainly afford it. And, look around. No dignitaries, no prelates, no reporters or cameras; even the paparazzi couldn't get in."

"He'd grown…unpretentious…later in life. I'm sure that was due to _her_ influence. This is the way he wanted it: Just a small, private ceremony with family and friends. Except that the only family he really loved isn't here…" His face tightened into a grimace.

Diana looked at him with genuine concern and reassured him, "We are going to find them, Kal. It's why we came back. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he reassured her back. His expression softened as he added, "And, technically, there is at least one reporter here and a dignitary, if not in an official capacity."

Diana's gentle smile graced her face once more as she said, "And it's time for both of them to go. We've stayed here long enough. We have a mission to accomplish." Diana turned away and took a couple of steps slowly, but Clark hadn't moved except to look down at the finely carved granite tombstone, reading the inscription yet again, as if he still couldn't believe his eyes, even after all this time.

'_Right now, we could use all the help we can get.' That's for sure. Well, you certainly know now better than any of us, old friend, whether or not God is really up there. And if He is, well, we can sure use His help, too._ Clark raised his eyes heavenward for just a moment and offered a brief, desperate, heartfelt prayer under his breath.

"Kal?" her voice was sympathetic but insistent.

"Coming," Clark tore his eyes away and followed Diana up the rolling slope toward the distant cemetery exit. The tombstone's inscription, which Clark had been studying so intently a moment before, read thus:

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REQUIESCAT IN PACE

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OLIVER JONAS QUEEN

January 20, 1980 – April 14, 2029

Beloved Husband, Father, Hero

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For strong is his right hand that bendeth the bow, his arrows that he shooteth are sharp,

and shall not miss, when they begin to be shot into the ends of the world.

4 Ezra 16:13

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**A/N:** And, cue the _Smallville _opening title sequence. A couple things: (1) I know the Fourth Book of Ezra is apocryphal, but that verse was too good not to use. (2) You can probably guess where this story is going next by the way this chapter ended and from the title of the next chapter, but just to be fair - WARNING: Character death ahead...


	2. Chapter 2: Broken Arrow

Chapter 2: Broken Arrow

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_You're damned right, I'm a hero! _– Oliver Queen; from _Homecoming_

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_One week prior…_

_the night of the 14__th__ of April in the Year of Our Lord 2029…_

All he had needed was a second. Just one second. A fraction of a second, really. More than enough time to draw his trusty bow and let loose his custom-designed, company-manufactured arrows with deadly, pin-point accuracy at all five incoming rounds. Unfortunately, he hadn't had that much time, and he had known it. So, if he couldn't have deflected the bullets away with his trademark weapon of choice, then he had had only one option left: To deflect them with himself. Tragically, economics must defer to the laws of physics; even his pricey, quality leather makes for poor body armor against a direct hit at close range from the latest in high-powered firearm technology. And, unfortunately for him and all who cared for him—whether they knew him as the Green Arrow or as Oliver Queen or belonged to that intimate circle of very limited circumference who knew him as both—not every superhero can be a man of steel. But, he had done it. He had saved his wife of eighteen happy, glorious years. He had again protected the life of the only woman he had ever truly loved. Hell, she had saved his sorry ass more than enough times over the years. Even though he had known that the cost would have been his own life, he hadn't even needed to think twice about it. A good thing, too. There was no way she could have survived the hesitation. Even as he put himself squarely in harm's way, he knew without a doubt, he'd do it again. For her. Anything for her.

As the bullets pierced his body, he had one thought: _'No greater love is there than this, to lay down one's life for a friend'...or in this case, a spouse._ His lips curled up into a very slight smile as he strained to say aloud, "John...fifteen, thir...teen." How many times had he heard it in church, heard it from priests, from nuns, from televangelists, from total strangers? He never really believed that that was how he would meet his end, but he'd always hoped that he had what it would take. A lightning bolt parted the skies. The thunder followed. He lifted his leg up from the ground, all a flood with water generously deposited by the hard, falling rain, and forced himself to take one firm, defiant step toward his assassins. His foot fell heavy on the earth in the shallow water with a splash. Then, he stumbled and slumped to the ground on his back, the rainwater soaking into his leather suit and blonde hair.

Time froze. So did she. She was absolutely paralyzed. She couldn't scream; she couldn't breathe; she couldn't feel; she couldn't think. It was as if the whole world had ground to a halt and all went silent. Then, her beloved Oliver turned his eyes toward her, reached out to her with his rapidly draining strength, and choked back the blood filling his mouth and throat to say, "Chloe…run…run."

With those words, suddenly the whole world snapped back into place like the release of a coil stretched to its limit. Time continued at its normal pace. But, Chloe Sullivan couldn't heed the words of her husband. She couldn't abandon him in his last moments. Even as tears of grief, hate, fear, and despair began pouring down her face, she ran to his side. Dropping to her knees, she threw her arms around him, cradling him to her. Oliver's eyes widened as he attempted to push her away, "Chloe…no…please." His eyes returned to the enemy that confronted them. He rolled onto his side and attempted to lift himself up using his elbow as leverage. He strained mightily to cover Chloe as best he could, to continue to shield her with his dying body. In vain, he struggled to reload his bow to defend his wife and strike down their assailants. For just a moment, Chloe shifted her gaze to her husband's murderers, grit her teeth, and narrowed her eyes in resolute defiance as she waited for them to finish them both.

Except, they didn't. Instead, they lowered their weapons and just stood there. After a moment, they turned unhurriedly and walked away. Not out of honor or pity; for they were far removed from such things. It was simply as if what was happening had suddenly become totally uninteresting to them. The three assassins picked up the pace, broke into a run, and disappeared back into the night like undead shades or demonic entities slipping back into whatever deep darkness they had crawled out of.

The lack of interest was mutual as Chloe and Oliver turned back toward one another. Chloe stared down into the exposed, ashen face of her fallen hero, his mask long since abandoned during the confrontation. Oliver looked back up at her, and her face conveyed to him every detail of what was going on inside of her. It was as if someone had reached into her, tore out her heart, and ripped her soul to pieces. Even as he could feel his life slipping away second by second, his concern was only for her. He would have given his few remaining breaths to make her shattered self whole again. One last, feeble attempt at wit, "If only Clark had been here. He can...take a bullet much...easier than...the rest of us."

The quip failed to alter her agonized countenance. Less to Oliver or herself and more to no one in particular, she responded with a voice barely registering a whisper, "Why _weren't_ you here, Clark? You used to _always_ be there when I needed you. Why not now? Why not _now?_" She gently stroked his handsome face with the back of her fingers. Gingerly, she bent closer to him and placed a gentle, tender kiss to his lips. They were already cold. Whether from the rain or from the life waning from his body, she couldn't tell. Not that she cared. She was fully absorbed in his face. She'd always loved his face. And, it was becoming maddeningly clear even to her own shattered psyche that she wouldn't be admiring it or stroking it or kissing it anymore. Her own face crumpled even further as the sobs now came uncontrollably.

Another lightning bolt split the sky with thunder loudly in pursuit. Oliver closed his eyes briefly, drew in a quick breath through his nostrils, and swallowed hard. The blood was warm and thick in his throat. He knew he had only seconds left. He turned his face slightly to kiss the palm of the hand that was tending to it so lovingly. Then, he lifted it back up to Chloe's eyes, abandoning all attempts at levity. He showed only deep concern for his soon-to-be widow as he stated with simple but heartfelt sincerity, "I love you, Chloe. I've always loved you. Tell our son that...his father loves him...and always will." He could no longer keep his eyes open. Oliver studied Chloe's features for the final time, burning them into his memory, and shut them. He was oddly calm—serene even, knowing that from now on, the world's troubles would no longer be his responsibility to tend to. For the first time, probably from the moment he'd understood that his mother and father were gone and never coming back to him, he was truly at peace. He emptied his lungs in one last, slow, weak breath. His body went limp in the arms of his devastated wife. And then, he—like his parents—was gone, too.

"No! No!" Chloe desperately sobbed, "Clark, why weren't you here? Why weren't you here? No! No!" His blood stained her hands. As her tears fell over them and her dead husband's face and body, they mingled with his blood. That organic mixture merged with the ceaseless, merciless rain, rushing down the crevices of the cold, dark, city street. Chloe shook her head back and forth, crying, "It's not fair. This _can't_ be happening." She turned her face straight up to the falling rains like a shot and gave out a loud, excruciating call, "CLARK, WHY WEREN'T YOU HERE?" The unrepentant storm rebuked her outburst with a barrage of multiple lightning flashes directly overhead and overlapping peals of thunder.

Her heart was ravaged; her spirit crushed; their defeat final. And then, as if something in her psyche long lay dormant, sprang to life and flooded her brain, overshadowing every trace of conscious thought. Immediately, her tears ceased. Chloe's body went rigid and the light went out of her eyes. Vacant, she dropped Oliver's still-fresh corpse in a heap of limbs and leather. She slowly, mechanically arose and walked, without will or deliberation, in broken footsteps, into the long night.

Once more lightning pierced the night sky, this time illuminating an unseen individual who, with focused concentration, observed the whole incident unfold from a nearby alley. The tall, trench-coated figure emerged from the alley and stepped cautiously toward the late and now abandoned Oliver Jonas Queen. He stared after the golden-haired woman stumbling away in the distance for several long moments. Then, he stooped down close to the body, visually inspected its mortal wounds, uniform, weapons, and finally settled his eyes on the hero's lifeless face. He stayed there—just like that—watching, waiting, as though keeping vigil over a fallen comrade. Then, the sound of sirens still in the distance reached his ears. He quickly stood up, looking in the direction of the sound. He took one last look at the man lying at his feet. Then, he pulled up his coat collar, turned 'round on his heels, and retreated back into the alleyway. Before long, patrol cars filled the street, blue-uniformed officers scattered throughout the area, the sounds of mechanized voices from radio transceivers broke the night, and the entire city block was cordoned off with yellow tape marked by words such as "CAUTION" and "CRIME SCENE" and "DO NOT CROSS." The flashing globes atop the Metropolis Police Department vehicles threw red and blue light all around, joining the white beams of the officers' flashlights. Some of the light spilled through the entrance of the alleyway just enough to reveal that it was now empty before returning to pass over the now very dead Green Arrow.


	3. Chapter 3: Connor

Chapter 3: Connor

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_The important thing is that you're safe, you're alive, and you're still a member of this family. _(Jonathan Kent)  
_Whether you like it or not. _(Clark Kent)  
– from _Rush_

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Connor Hawke always had a knack for getting into trouble. Fortunately, he had an equal knack for getting out of trouble. Unfortunately, he generally made more use of the first set of skills than he did the second. In fact, standing in his bedroom suite of his parents' ultra-modern and ultra-expensive Metropolis penthouse apartment and putting the final touches on his person, he was up to no good right at this moment. But first, he had to look the part. He started by unbuttoning the two top buttons of his more-expensive-than-designer-shoes shirt and spreading the collar a bit. He continued by adjusting his elegant but not gaudy, gold necklace and cross; for a moment, thinking back to when he had received it at his First Communion when he was only seven years-old. Next, he rolled up both of his sleeves to mid-arm and clasped on the Rolex. Then, he picked up his jacket by the collar with the first two digits of his hand and swung it around his shoulder. Lastly, he ran his hand through his hair and took a long look at himself in the mirror. Very flattering.

The only son of Oliver Queen and Chloe Sullivan was the spitting image of his father—all six-foot-two-inches of him—from his light-blonde curls to his toes. Except for his eyes; he had the same penetrating, brilliant, deep-green eyes of his mother. It was the perfect combination to reflect his reality, for he had the prowess of his father and the soul of his mother. He was athletic, agile, strong, with a natural dexterity that almost rivaled his father's acquired skillfulness. He also had a subtle intellect, inherited from both his parents but more so from his mother, that he often kept hidden. As one might anticipate, he excelled in virtually every activity he participated in, and he had no shortage of friends, girlfriends, hangers-on, admirers, etc.

He was born on January 20, 2012—same date as his father. Oliver always said that Connor Hawke was the best birthday gift he'd ever received. There had never been a time when he had not been close to both his father and mother. Oliver Queen spared no expense in his son's upbringing, and Chloe Sullivan always gave him whatever love and attention he needed. If Oliver erred, it was in giving in too easily to his son. He'd remember all of the trouble he would get into as a boy and even as a man, and so he often overlooked what he perceived to be a chip off the old block in his son. Chloe was more the disciplinarian than he was, and Connor certainly needed discipline. They'd very briefly considered Oliver's alma mater, Excelsior Academy, for Connor soon after he was born, but the idea of boarding school had been quickly dismissed. Both Oliver and Chloe had recalled how lonely both of their childhoods had been, how they shared the lack of a reliable and loving parental presence from both a mother and father in their youth, and they resolved to be as much a part of Connor's life as they could. He still received the finest education money could buy. Even on a couple of occasions, when Connor had nearly gotten tossed out on his ear, his father would always find a way to smooth things over with the administration and faculty, and his mother would always find a creative punishment to fit the transgression. He lived a privileged life, no doubt about it, and he never once doubted that he was loved by his mother and father.

As happy as his childhood turned out to be, his parents were initially concerned that it would be a lonely one. After all, Connor Hawke was an only child, the son of a mother and father who themselves were only children of their respective parents. That meant no sisters, no brothers, no aunts, uncles, or cousins. Even grandparents would scarcely be present in his life. Connor could never know his paternal grandparents at all since Oliver's mother and father had been tragically killed when he was still a young child, long before Connor had been born. Of his surviving pair of grandparents, Chloe's mother Moira had tragically succumbed to severe dementia when she was just a child. As for Gabe Sullivan, Connor would see him on occasion, but for the most part, he would be an absentee grandfather. But, certain circumstances would arise that would change Connor's life forever, making it a lot less lonely and a lot less normal.

Oliver's and Chloe's marriage had raised certain issues with their associates, particularly those who maintained hidden identities. Therefore, after a long and thorough debate, the Justice League as a whole decided that they would not attempt to hide who they really were or what they really did from any children that might arise from a potential pairing within the League. All of a sudden, the one thing that he did have a shortage of—family—was something Connor Hawke would now have in droves. And a further consequence of that decision was that, from a very young age, he knew that their closest family friends were the planet's most extraordinary superheroes. One could probably anticipate what his reaction was to this when he was very young. He thought it was the coolest thing in the world! He even accidentally let slip a couple times to his friends about what it was like to have an extended family like his. Fortunately for the League, this had few repercussions because anyone who heard him just assumed he was an outright liar or had an active imagination. Between his parents' stern insistence that he keep this secret and everyone else's disbelief, it didn't take long for Connor to learn the fine art of discretion as regards his family's involvement in the Justice League of America.

Nevertheless, there was a dark side to all this. Oliver Queen's exploits as the Green Arrow would sometimes take him away from his family for days. Other times, both Chloe and Oliver would be involved in a mission, and Connor would have to cope not just with their absence but with the terrible fear that they might not come back. Even Justice League members did not always return alive. And, when they did, they were not always in the best condition. Even if it wasn't his father or mother that was in danger, seeing his surrogate aunts and uncles taking a beating or disappearing for a time or wondering whether one will live or die took its toll. After a while, it wasn't so cool. Life with the League had not made Connor jaded, but it gave him a healthy dose of reality and caused him to grow up a lot faster than his peers.

There were other things, too, strange things that he had to deal with. For instance, he never did understand why exactly he and his father and his mother all had different last names. He knew it had something to do with the identity of 'Chloe Anne Sullivan' being redacted from every record on Earth, effectively erasing his mother's entire existence. He knew it also had something to do with his parents wanting to conceal as many of their associations as possible, including their family identity, in order to protect all of them and the Justice League at the same time. Since the three of them were still alive and no bad guys had retaliated against any of them, Connor assumed that the scheme worked. It was still a weird thing to have to live with. And, it was even weirder to hear co-workers down at the _Star City Register_ all call his mother by a completely different name than the one his Dad, Aunt Lois, Uncle Clark, Aunt Diana, and the rest of his Justice League relatives used.

Ah, yes! Aunt Lois, Uncle Clark, and Aunt Diana. Connor loved all his family, whether they were blood relations like Grandpa Gabe or surrogate family like the League. But, it is fair to say that after his Mom and Dad, Lois Lane, Clark Kent, and Diana Prince were the closest, most beloved family he had. Connor knew that Lois was really his mother's cousin, and that made her his second cousin. He also knew that Clark was an extraterrestrial from not just another planet but another galaxy. But, Chloe and Lois were like sisters, and Chloe and Clark had already been best friends for years by the time they were Connor's age. He loved them both best because his mother was so close to them, and his father was tight with them, too. Connor had been calling them Uncle Clark and Aunt Lois since he could speak, and ever since he first came out with those affectionate terms, they all insisted he keep using them. They were his godparents, as well. If anything ever happened to both Oliver and Chloe, Lois and Clark were ready to adopt Connor faster than Superman outrunning a speeding bullet.

His Aunt Diana was a different matter. Apparently, she had been "discovered" by Chloe during her globe-trotting days with the Suicide Squad about a year before Connor was born. But, it was his Uncle Clark who later recruited her to the Justice League. He had convinced her to join their ranks soon after she made her debut on the world scene (or as she curiously put it "being sent into Patriarch's World"), and they had been close friends ever since. Sometimes too close according to Aunt Lois, but nobody believed there was anything wrong going on between them, least of all Connor. Chloe was absolutely thrilled when Diana joined the League. The two of them quickly formed a great friendship, and both enjoyed the fact that their history together was longer than what anyone else in the League had with Diana.

Being best friends with his mother and his favorite uncle, it was a foregone conclusion that she would be a major part of Connor's life, as well. And, that was perfectly fine by him. Diana was nobility, royalty even, single, and drop-dead gorgeous. Connor's had a bit of a heavy crush on his surrogate aunt since he was a young boy. At first, it was perfectly innocent; he was simply very fond of her. And, she was very fond of her little "nephew." But, as Connor grew from a boy into a young man, his fondness grew into attraction to Diana. He never did anything inappropriate or made anyone uncomfortable, but he wasn't a master at hiding his feelings, either. Diana was aware of how he felt. He'd begun to drop the "Aunt" from time to time when addressing Diana about a year or two ago. And, there were times when he could've sworn that she was flirting with him. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Then again, maybe not. Oh well, perhaps in a few more years, who knows?

For now, Connor was barely seventeen and he, among other things, had already lost his virginity, experienced his first hangover, and gotten high off of recreational drugs. Truth be known, he regretted all three, especially the two latter. But, if attending services at the local Catholic Church on Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Easter, and Christmas every year had taught him anything, it was that redemption is possible always and from anything. Not that Connor needed that much more in the way of redemption than your average human being. Yes, he had his mother's thrill of discovery. And sure, he had inherited his father's appetite for partying, drinking, and the opposite sex. And, he had a double share of temerity from both of them to boot. But before he married Chloe, Oliver used to want to just drown his problems, his woes, his fears, his (self-)doubts in women, booze, and debauchery. Connor Hawke genuinely enjoyed a good time and he was not nearly so self-indulgent. Still, it could all get pretty shallow pretty fast. Not like Dad, but still kind of close. Regardless, whatever trouble he'd been in wasn't the result of being exceedingly reckless or feckless or any other kind of "–eckless." Connor was basically a good kid. He was both fiercely loyal and fiercely protective of friends and family. Actually, that more often than not was when he got into trouble; when he was being _fiercely _loyal or _fiercely _protective or _both_. He'd made some mistakes and he'd made amends. Still, before he turned eighteen and became a legal adult, and his juve record got buried, and he had to go the straight and narrow straight as an arrow (at least on legal paper), he wanted to live a little while he could.

So, that was what he was doing right now: Heading to downtown Metropolis to look up and hook up with some old friends, hopefully make some new friends, and have an overall night to remember out on the Big Apricot. As he headed toward the apartment's foyer, there was just one concern about this whole venture that he approached with some trepidation, a little apprehension: Which car to take? The Ferrari, the Corvette, the Mercedes, the Rolls, the BMW, or the Porsche? Decisions, decisions. He made up his mind and took one of the six sets of keys before him off its hook, saying to himself, "Tonight, we'll go the American way." He tossed the keys slightly up in the air and smiled as he grabbed them in his hand again. Then, he turned and quickly started toward the door, but he stopped dead in his tracks when a knock came from the other side.

Directly outside, Clark and Diana could do nothing but wait. Diana anxiously looked down the long, plush corridor in both directions. Confirming the hall was empty and that they were alone, she turned back to Clark and asked, "Is he home?"

"He's home," Clark answered while staring intently at the door.

"Well, is he going to answer the door? Where is he?" Diana asked as her eyes darted from Clark to the door and back again.

With a quick nod toward the door, Clark said, "He's right on the other side of the door, just standing in the middle of the room, staring at it."

Diana once again looked at the door and back at Clark, paused, and blinked. Expectantly, Diana inquired, "What's he doing?" emphasizing each syllable for effect.

At this point, Clark was nearly as frustrated with Diana's interrogation as he was with Connor's apparent, sudden episode of paralysis. He turned momentarily from the door to look at Diana and replied, "Probably the same thing you are: wondering whether he's going to answer the door or not." Quickly, he shifted his gaze back to the door. Technically, Clark wasn't staring _at _the door; he was staring _through _the door, courtesy of his X-ray vision.

"We don't have time for this," Diana said impatiently and knocked on the door, again, louder and longer than before.

"Careful, Diana. You might scare him."

"Not likely, Kal. Nothing ever scared him when he was seventeen."

Clark grinned at the comment and then mumbled quietly at the door never taking his eyes off of it, "Come on, Connor. Don't make us open this door ourselves. Maintenance won't like it—wait, okay, here he comes now."

Coming to a decision, Connor approached the door from inside the apartment and looked through the peephole. Surprised, he glanced downward as if mulling something over in his mind, then rolled his eyes, and resignedly opened the door. Clark entered first, glancing at the young Connor as he walked past him, looked about the place, and said, "What took so long? I thought you'd never let us in."

Connor forced a smile. "Uncle Clark, what a surprise. Just make yourself at home," he said as he gestured toward the apartment's interior.

"Hello, Connor," he heard Diana say to him in a low voice. He turned around to see her smiling provocatively at him.

Connor swallowed, genuinely smiling this time, and replied, "Hi…Aunt Diana." She locked eyes with him as she casually strolled past him into the apartment and took her place at Clark's side.

Connor began hesitantly, "Uh…Mom and Dad aren't home…"

"Yes, we know," Diana answered, briefly glancing at Clark.

"So, you're here to see me?" Connor looked them both over in their very formal-looking attire and asked, "Who died?" The irony of the statement destroyed any pretense Clark and Diana attempted to establish. Both of their expressions changed to ones of guilt and distress. Connor, being the perceptive young man that he was, adopted a note of concern in his voice, "So, not just a friendly visit. What's wrong? What's happened?"

Clark had been going over and over in his mind, a hundred times and more, what he was going to tell Connor at this point. He had yet to come up with anything. He just looked at the young man in front of him and sighed. After a moment, Clark covered his mouth with his palm and wiped the bottom half of his face with his right hand. Whether that hand motion was deliberate or subconscious on his part, even Clark wasn't sure. Nevertheless, it was obvious that Connor had noticed it. In fact, his eyes were glued to it.

The "it" was a ring on Clark's middle finger, rather large, appearing to be made of gold, with a distinct design embossed on its face: The letter 'L' geometrically inscribed within a circular rim with a tailed starburst in the angle. Connor recognized it immediately even though he'd never actually seen one with his own eyes until now. He knew that his uncle had one, but he also knew that his uncle never wore it. He had never even shown it to his nephew, only described it to him, and told him a few stories involving it. And, because of those stories, Connor knew that it wasn't made of gold at all but was instead made of an otherworldly alloy called "Valorium." Because of those stories, Connor knew exactly what the 'L' on it stood for. And, because of those stories, Connor knew that his uncle regarded it as dangerous—_very _dangerous. That was the only reason he kept it at all, well-hidden and well-protected at his Fortress of Solitude: to prevent it from ever being used by anyone. Connor quickly looked at his aunt and focused his attention on an identical ring adorning her right hand.

Connor Hawke slowly took a full step back from Clark and Diana. Training his eyes on them both apprehensively, he pointed to both of them, as if holding them at a distance with his gaze and his accusatory index fingers. He asked them, "Who are you and what do you want?"

Meanwhile, elsewhere, an approximately human-sized red blur with gold highlights could be seen streaking through the streets of Metropolis. It came to a halt right at a spot on the other side of the street across from the apartment complex entrance. Bart Allen a.k.a. the Flash frowned as he observed the blonde-haired teenage boy being escorted to a blue sedan by a man and woman with matching black hair and matching black outfits. Activating his earpiece communicator with a touch of his finger, he spoke, "Flash to Watchtower. Come in."

"Green Lantern here," came the transmitted reply.

As the car drove off with its three occupants, Bart Allen continued, "Hal, what am I doing here?"

At Watchtower, Hal Jordan a.k.a. the Green Lantern was observing the Flash on the monitor in front of him. "Funny, but now's not the time for jokes," he responded unamused.

"Who's making jokes? I'm dead serious."

"Bart, you're about as serious as a paper cut and just as irritating. Now, have you located Connor Hawke, yet? Is he safe?"

"Oh, he's safe all right and probably on his way to Watchtower right now. And, thank you so much for the heads-up."

At that comment, Hal Jordan furrowed his brow and squinted in confusion.

"Look, if Clark and Diana were just going to pick up Connor themselves, what did you need me for? You don't exactly need back-up to babysit. By the way, what's with those outfits? They looked like they were dressed for a wake. I mean, Supes, okay, I can understand, but Diana has more fashion sense than that."

Now, Hal's eyes came fully open and he turned his head to look over his shoulder with a quizzical expression at two individuals standing off to the side about ten feet behind him. The taller of the two approached the chair the Green Lantern was sitting in and reached past him to press a button on the console. "Flash, this is Superman. Can you repeat that last thing you said, please?"

Bart's heart sank as he spoke into the communicator with a resigned tone, "Clark, is Diana with you?"

"Yes, she is," came the unmistakable voice of the Princess of Themyscira from the other person behind the Green Lantern as she also stepped up to the console and monitor.

Hal confirmed their presence, "Clark and Diana are right here, Bart. They never left Watchtower."

There was a pause, then, "You both don't happen to be dressed like undertakers, do you?" the Flash asked hopefully.

"Not unless you're _completely_ colorblind," Wonder Woman replied.

"We're both dressed for the freak' Fourth of July, just like always, Bart," Superman said in a voice that conveyed diminishing patience and growing anxiety.

Another pause followed. "Terrific. Well then, who did I just see driving away with Oliver's and Chloe's son? Did you let Bizarro out of the Phantom Zone, again?"

"Bart, tell me you got a license plate number or that you can see what street that car is driving down now?" Clark's voice was thick with concern. Unfortunately, the only thing being transmitted back was a long moment of quiet static. Finally, there came a very sheepish-sounding, "Negative."

"Damn it!" Clark swore as he pushed himself up from the console and monitor. Hal just hanged his head in his hand, propped-up by his elbow resting on the console. Clark struggled to get a hold of himself. With equal parts anger and fear, he yelled at a slightly startled Diana, "Oliver's dead, Chloe's disappeared, and now we've lost Connor!"

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**A/N: **Sorry for the exposition-heavy chapter, but if the little boy we saw in _Finale_ is going to be a fully-realized character, I wanted to establish him up front (and Diana, too). BTW, no idea what Oliver Queen's and Connor Hawke's canonical birthdates are, but for the purposes of this story, it's the same for both: January 20. There's probably a reason for that...


	4. Chapter 4: Evasion

**A/N:** In addition to not owning anything having to do with _Smallville, _regrettably I also own nothing having to do with the Corvette, including none of the associative trademarks, licensing, stock options, etc. Chevrolet and General Motors do, though.

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Chapter 4: Evasion

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_evade (i 'vād) _v._ 1: to elude or escape by dexterity or stratagem  
__2: to avoid answering directly_

_._

Connor sat in the backseat of the car completely engrossed in his own thoughts. He reviewed in his head the conversation that passed between him and his two unexpected visitors a little while ago at the apartment.

_"Who are you and what do you want?"_

_ "Connor, it's us," Diana pleaded raising both of her hands in an attempt to allay his concerns._

_ "Well, mostly us," Clark quietly remarked to her._

_ "What?" Connor asked, not sure if he caught that last comment or not. When Clark didn't respond, Connor countered with, "If you're really Clark Kent and Diana Prince, then why didn't you 'drop in' the way you usually do—literally—in costume and out on the terrace?" He accompanied that last part with a flick of the head toward the sliding, bullet-proof, smart glass doors on the other side of the spacious living area._

_ "We're trying not to attract attention to ourselves," Clark explained._

_ "Now that, I believe," Connor accorded._

_ "We're from the future, Connor," Diana revealed in the same pleading voice._

_ "Oh, not one of those…" Connor grasped the back of his neck dispiritedly. He was skeptical, but willing to listen._

_ Clark jumped in, "Something happened last night…with your mother. We're here to help her, and we need your help to do that." Diana shot a glaring look toward Clark as if he'd said something or perhaps did _not _say something that clearly made her feel uncomfortable. With equal intensity, he met her eyes with his own._

_Connor took note of the non-verbal communication taking place in the silent exchange of looks between them. He shrugged and said unperturbed, "Mom's fine."_

_ "No, she isn't," Clark insisted, "She didn't come back to the apartment last night, did she? Neither did your father."_

_ "If you are my Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana, then you know there's nothing unusual about that," Connor responded._

_ At that point, Clark's frustration took over. In a voice a little more aggressive than he intended, he said, "Look, we can stand here and do this all day. I can do all the parlor tricks for you you want, too, if that's what it's going to take to convince you. I can burn a hole in the carpet with my eyes right now. Or, I can make instant ice cubes using nothing but my breath on a tray full of water. Or, if you want, go hide something anywhere in this apartment, and I'll just watch you through the walls and tell you exactly what and where it is. Or, you can just believe that we are exactly who we look like, that we're from the future, and that we're here to save Chloe. Decide fast because we don't have much time left and neither does she."_

_ "Connor, please," Diana said very simply._

_ Connor looked into the eyes of the man and the woman staring back at him. Neither made any movement toward him. Both were clearly agitated but not hostile. If they were here to kidnap him or do him harm in any other way, they were the most polite and patient abductors he's ever known. They knocked before entering. They were trying to convince him to leave with them. They could've just come right through the front door, knock him unconscious or throw a blanket over him, and toss him into the trunk of some car. And, if not for what he could only conclude were Legion rings, it wouldn't even have occurred to him to question whether or not they were who they appeared to be. They even called his mother by her real name. After a moment more of thought, Connor spoke, "Fine. Let's go. But, if you're _not _my Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana, don't think I can't lose the both of you the minute things start to look suspicious."_

_Without a word, Clark headed toward the door. Diana smiled at her nephew and expressed her gratitude for his trust, "Thank you, Connor." With that, he followed his uncle out the door with his aunt right behind._

"_Are you two going to tell me what's going on? Or at least, where we're going?" he asked a little annoyed._

"_We'll tell you on the way," Clark replied. Connor let out a quiet sigh. There goes his perfect night._

"Did we lose him?" Diana asked.

Clark answered, "He went right by us. Good thing we remembered that the Flash saw us leave the building with Connor…you know, the first time."

Connor awoke from his rumination and realized that the car had stopped and that they were in a parking lot. "Are we there already? Where are we?" he asked, perplexed, as he looked out the passenger windows. He then craned his neck in order to look nearly straight up through the car's rear windshield. Way up in the distance against a partly cloudy sky, he could make out his parents' apartment, where they all had been only moments ago, at the very top of the high-rise. It was kind of hard to miss even from the ground. It did take up half the floor it was on, after all. "Uhm, guys? All we did was drive around the corner and pull into the parking lot behind the building. Why?"

"Because we had to give your Uncle Bart the slip, first," Clark responded, "He was right across the street when we walked outside. If we tried to get away, he'd be on this car in a second. As it is, he's running the wrong way. Where we're going is in the opposite direction."

"Where, exactly, are we going?" Connor inquired further.

Clark unintentionally ignored the question. He stared after the Flash and tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs absent-mindedly as if trying to figure something out. His expression brightened as he came up with an idea. He asked, "Connor, do you still have the keys to your father's car?"

"…What keys?" Connor asked feigning innocence.

"Connor…" Clark began.

"Oh, these keys," Connor said as he surrendered them to his uncle's open hand.

"Everybody out of the car," Clark instructed as he opened his door. Diana picked up a manila folder from the dashboard as she got out.

"Wha…why?" Connor asked as he reluctantly exited the vehicle.

Clark tossed the set of keys not just handed to him by Connor underneath the driver seat and shut both driver-side doors. As he headed in haste across the lot to the costly reserved parking section, he looked back to his nephew following him and explained, "Because any minute now, the Metropolis police are going to issue an APB on three persons, whose description we all happen to match to a tee, last seen driving a blue, mid-sized sedan. So, instead, we'll be driving a…" Clark pressed a couple of buttons on the keychain. Nearby, car doors unlocked and an alarm deactivated in response. The trio converged on their new mode of transportation. "…hot rod," he finished, taken aback.

Sleek, stylish, sophisticated, and homegrown in the US of A, Oliver Queen's Corvette was top of the line, in mint condition, and sat proudly alongside the rest of his personal fleet. If you stared at it for long enough, you could hear it growl. "The Corvette? Really, Connor," Diana began, "just what were you planning for this evening?" She sounded somewhere between impressed and amused, and she was grinning slyly. Connor noted that this Diana seemed more playful than her counterpart in the present, despite the circumstances the three of them were in. He wondered why that was but at the same time welcomed it.

"Whatever it was, I doubt it included us. We have a problem," Clark lamented, referring to the fact that Corvettes traditionally have room for only two.

Connor realized what he meant, raised his eyebrows, and looked down at the ground. Diana looked at Clark and tilted her head, giving him an expression that had 'are you serious?' written all over it. Clark just put his hands in his pockets and looked back at her with a yielding face that said 'it's your call.' Diana quickly tried to think up every other option possible, none of them viable. They couldn't even risk returning to the apartment. And, they hadn't come all this way through time in order to save Chloe and her son, only to let them be killed now. And, there was no telling how much time they had. So, they could certainly use the speed on this thing. If Chloe's and Connor's lives weren't at stake, along with everyone else's for that matter, she'd never agree to this. With no loss of pride or dignity and without turning to look at him, Diana spoke, "Connor, this is your lucky day."

Clark opened the driver's door and got behind the wheel. He and Diana pulled the doors closed as he inserted the key in the ignition, turned it, and shifted into 'reverse.' "At least, we'll be going the rest of the way in style," Clark pointed out with a weak smile. He looked at his seventeen year-old nephew and his much, _much_ older-than-that best friend in their somewhat compromising position. Connor was sitting in the passenger seat, his belt fastened, while Diana reclined on top of him on her side with her legs drawn up slightly and with her back leaning against his chest. He held her securely to him with both arms about her waist. Both were trying to hide it, but they still looked uncomfortable where they were. Clark could tell Diana wasn't crazy about this idea in the least. She looked into Connor's eyes, which happened to be mere inches from her own. She then turned to look right at Clark and ordered, "Drive fast, Clark." The sound of screeching tires loudly accompanied the car as it pulled out of the lot and onto the city street.

Now, if Connor was truthful and honest with himself, he'd freely admit that more than a few of his fantasies involved in some way, shape, or form Diana Prince and a Corvette. In fact, the situation he currently found himself in was looking an awful lot like the way most of those started off. Except, in none of those fantasies was Uncle Clark ever in the car with them. Nor was the car ever careening down the streets of Metropolis at breakneck speed (at least, not by the time he'd gotten Diana in his arms). Nor was his mother ever in any sort of serious danger even if he didn't know what that danger was exactly. And, in none of his fantasies did he and Diana feel this many kinds of awkward.

_Oh, come on. We can be adults about this, _Connor thought. After all, if he had sisters or female cousins, and one of them needed to go with his uncle and him across town in an emergency, and they only had the Corvette available, it wouldn't be a big deal for him to hold her in his lap for the duration of the trip. Except that Diana Prince was not his sister or his female cousin. She wasn't even really his aunt. Not any relation at all. She was an exceedingly beautiful, extremely sexy, mature woman…with long, slender legs…and curvaceous thighs…and a tiny waist…and supple bre…It suddenly dawned on Connor that his vision was directly following his thoughts. In self-reproach, he averted his line of sight. The absolute last thing he needed now was to venture off into one of those fantasies or to allow his eyes to roam across terrains he had no proper claim upon. He just hoped Diana hadn't noticed him checking her out. Of course, if she had, Connor reasoned he would've most likely been on the receiving end of an Amazonian-sized wallop by now. He examined her face trying to discern her mood, but it was totally expressionless. He couldn't make out if she were amused, bemused, humiliated, incensed, or indifferent. No help from Clark; he was equally expressionless. Or, maybe his thoughts were just elsewhere.

Connor decided to speak up in an effort to lighten the mood, "You know we could've reversed this. I could be sitting in your lap right now. Like when I was eight."

"I can survive being thrown through the windshield. You can't," Diana countered in a calm, rational tone that lacked completely the playful demeanor he took note of before they had gotten in the car.

"Hopefully, Uncle Clark is still a better driver than that. I'm sorry, Diana. It isn't right for a lady not to ride shotgun, with the seat all to herself, of course," He offered, looking sympathetically at her.

Diana looked sideways at him for a moment and then directed her eyes to look out the front windshield, saying, "I won't be offended if you're not all _that_ sorry."

Wow. That just kind of made his day. "Let me make sure this seat is back and down all the way. It's a little crowded in here," said Conner as he reached down and fiddled with the buttons on the dash, maxing out the low position of the seat. He then dug down as low as he could into it in order to give Diana as much space as possible.

"How chivalrous. Always a gentleman, Connor," Diana praised as she settled a little more easily against her living, human accommodation. Connor could feel some of the tension easing from her, which calmed him significantly, too. That is, until he looked out the front window and saw the rapid speed at which everything outside was passing by.

"You know, Uncle Clark, if you want to avoid the police, this is so not the way to do it."

"The police aren't the only ones looking for us, Connor. Right now, the Flash is scouring the entire city at ground level for the three of us while our doubles," Clark said as he gestured back and forth between himself and Diana, "from this time period are doing the same from the air."

"They…we…think you've been kidnapped, Connor," Diana added.

As Connor tried futilely to get into a bit more comfortable position, he replied, "You know, I'm starting to think that myself. Can you tell me where we're going yet?"

Clark paused before answering, "Belle Reve."

"Belle…" Connor cried as he raised his head up in alarm, smacking it hard against Diana's head, causing her to smack her own head against the car ceiling. "…Reve?" Connor finished, wincing in pain.

"Are you all right, Connor?" Diana asked.

"Just swell. Starting to wish I'd picked the Mercedes. Sorry about that."

"Don't be. I didn't feel a thing," Diana reassured.

"Were you able to get the police report, Diana?" Clark asked her.

"Hot off the press, so to speak," Diana affirmed to the former-reporter, "courtesy of one Lieutenant John Jones, Homicide," Diana said as she lifted the manila folder from between the seats long enough for him to spot it and dropped it back to the floor.

"Uncle John is here, too? What's he doing?" Connor asked astounded.

"Racking up the felony charges: obstructing an official, on-going investigation, falsifying reports, 'misplacing' evidence…" Diana started.

"He's running interference down at the precinct…" Clark explained.

"…while trying to avoid his own counterpart from this time, just like we are…" Diana inserted.

"…in order to give us time to get your mother to safety," Clark finished. He pulled the steering wheel hard to the right, skidding out the wheels before turning down the new street. The car quickly accelerated to its former speed. Connor turned his head to observe the road zoom by through the window.

"Did you just blow through a stop sign?" he asked in amazement.

"That's nothing. You should see your Uncle Bruce take the Batmobile through Gotham City," Clark responded unfazed.

"I have. He's got nothing on you." Connor proffered, "You know, we could probably get there a lot faster if you two just flew there and brought me along for the ride."

"We can't have anyone seeing two pairs of Supermen and Wonder Women flying around or running around Metropolis. I know we're really fast and we probably could avoid being seen, but we can't risk it. Besides, the two of us from this time will almost certainly know it and find us the minute we take off. Not to mention, all of Watchtower's surveillance satellites are covering every square-inch of the city. That's why we didn't 'drop-in,' as you said, at your place. For all we knew, our doubles could've been in the apartment when we arrived," Diana revealed. _Or someone worse, _she finished silently in her thoughts.

"I don't get it. Why did you come back in time? What's with the low profile? Why is my mother in Belle Reve? Why do you need my help? Why can't we have the League from this present time involved?" Connor stopped and even more pointedly added, "Where's my father?"

Diana turned herself to look at Connor, her eyes expressively denoting pity for him. She and Clark then glanced at one another. Clark's eyes returned to the road as he dodged the subject, "That's a lot of questions, Connor. Look, you know how time travelling from the future works. There isn't much we can tell you, and even if we could it wouldn't make any sense…yet. You just have to trust us."

Clark changed lanes while simultaneously threading the Corvette between two other cars driving side by side in parallel lanes. Connor barely heard the blare of horns as they receded far into the background. He could swear they came within an inch of collision. More on his mind, though, was the fact that Diana and he were colliding. Repeatedly. Connor wished that this drive could go more smoothly. Every time the car made a sudden movement, Diana's body would shift around and jostle against his own. The effect was, well, arousing, frankly, and that was the true cause for his disquietude.

If all this was only a high-speed excursion through the streets of Metropolis, Connor would not be nervous at all. He, for some time, had known the thrill, the danger, and the excitement of technically illegal street-racing. He'd even been involved in a few friendly competitions right here in Metropolis. The difference was that he typically raced between the hours of eleven at night and three in the morning, not in broad daylight; and usually it was he—or on occasion a friend of his—behind the wheel, not his uncle Clark. He was grateful that traffic was light, especially for this time of day. Actually, his uncle wasn't doing badly, at all. Not as good as himself, of course, but Connor decided that Clark could hold his own and tried to relax a bit more.

"You know, you don't drive anything like my Uncle Clark. What year did you say you were from again?" Connor asked.

"I didn't. But, in the future the city speed limit is going to be a hundred to a hundred fifty miles per hour faster than it is now. Not that I have the need to drive much these days…I mean, those days. Whatever," Clark replied.

"That really makes me feel better about all this."

Hold on," Clark warned.

Connor complied, tightening his grip around Diana. Clark sharply applied the brake slowing the vehicle down to five mph lower than the current speed limit. Instinctively, Connor's hand moved to Diana's thigh just above her knee and braced her while she braced the full length of her body hard against his. _Oh, God, _he thought to himself as he attempted to keep the sensations he was feeling in check. When the car assumed a steady velocity, he was thrown back into the car seat while she was thrown full-on back into him, he reflexively wrapping his arms around her. Seconds later, she casually took his hands and placed them back at their former position around her waist. That one was_ really_ jostling. Connor closed his eyes, breathed, and tried to regain his composure. "What was that about?" he questioned.

"Patrol car," Clark indicated pointing to the two o'clock position.

Connor observed as the vehicle clearly marked 'Metropolis Police' came into view, "You could see him from all the way back there going that fast?" Clark just turned to face him briefly and then turned back to the road again. "Right, I forgot who I was talking to for a minute," Connor said aloud to himself. Future Uncle Clark may be acting nonchalant about this commute, but Connor could tell that he was honing all of his super-sight, super-hearing, and super-fast reflexes in intense concentration to get to their destination in the shortest time possible without getting into an accident.

Connor decided that that was a good thing. While his id was getting off on this trip, his Freudian superego just wanted it to be over. He couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage of the situation. If it were any other girl, he would be. He'd be savoring every sensation and enjoying himself immensely while doing it. But, Diana Prince wasn't any girl. She was a diplomat, princess, superhero, practically a goddess, and for him a lifelong friend. He respected her immensely, even revered her to an extent, and he wanted to earn her respect, as well. And, whether or not he was truly _in _love with her, or would be one day, he loved her like family today.

Connor looked skyward and caught sight of something cruising far up in the air on a course parallel to the street. He focused in on and saw behind it a barely noticeable trail of red and blue. Diana saw that he was intrigued by something above them and looked in the same general direction. When she realized what, or more properly, who it was, even she was surprised. "Is that…?" Connor began, looking Diana in the face, then back to the windshield, and then back to Diana.

"Yes…it's me," Diana answered Connor's unspoken question.

"Do…you, uh…see us?"

"No. At the time, I was concentrating my heightened senses on trying to find anyone moving at extraordinary speeds in the air or along the ground. Although, I do recall wondering when would people learn to drive safely?"

Clark made a left and slammed on the accelerator. Inertia caused Diana's body to compress hard against Connor's own, again. He attempted to distract himself with just about any thought from his acute awareness of Diana Prince being in his lap and in his arms. It was hard to do that. Really hard. "I have a question for you, Connor," Clark indicated. _Thank God, _Connor thought. "What are you and your parents doing in Metropolis? Usually you guys call ahead when you visit from Star City. But, you didn't this time."

"It was just a routine trip to get away for a few days. Dad was going to close some business deals, and he needed to be there in person. It was easier to meet in Metropolis. Mom and Dad wanted to get some alone time while they were here. They were going to check in at Watchtower and see everybody today. In fact, I thought they were there now," Connor admitted.

There was nothing amiss about Connor's story. The Queens lived in Star City. Chloe and Oliver maintained the high-end residence in Metropolis, but they used it only when they were in town, which wasn't all that often. Since it was way uptown from their regular headquarters, the Justice League used it as a safe house in case Watchtower ever became compromised or they needed to hide someone or regroup elsewhere. And, while Oliver was a bit casual about letting the rest of the League know about his movements, Chloe usually made up for that. Usually. But, not informing the League that they were coming this time couldn't have gone down in a worse way.

"So, if they were looking for 'alone time,' why did your mom and dad bring you along? You can look after yourself for a few days," Clark continued.

"I asked to come. Our place here is big enough to get lost in. They can do whatever it is they do when I'm not around, and I can do my thing, and we don't have to see each other at all except for dinner if we wanted to. Besides, I wanted to see you guys." Connor could see via his peripheral vision that Clark was staring at him. Diana also turned her head to look at him with a disbelieving expression on her face. "Really!" Connor said as if his feelings had been hurt, "I _did _want to visit you and Aunt Lois and Uncle Bruce and…"

"…and, you thought you'd just sneak out while your parents weren't home," Diana observed.

Busted. "… I left a note. Besides, I have my cell phone right here." Connor gripped Diana tighter with one hand and reached into his pocket to pull his cell out with the other.

"Give me that!" Clark cried out as he reached over, grabbed Connor's cell phone out of his hand, crunched it into pieces in his own hand, and gripped the wheel once again with both his hands all at super speed. "Somebody could use that to track you…and us."

"Why are you so worried about the Justice League finding us?" Connor inquired.

"It's not the League that I'm worried about," Clark cryptically responded.

Connor was silent for a moment and then asked, "Is my Dad waiting for us at Belle Reve?"

Clark also was silent for a moment before replying, "Not exactly." Diana dropped her head slightly and frowned, but not so that Connor could see. She genuinely felt compassion for the young man, especially for when he would find out what happened to Oliver.

Clark made another hard turn to the left, skidding through a lane change and frightening a pedestrian about to step onto the crosswalk. A few seconds later, after Diana settled back into relative stability in his embrace, Connor breathed again and put his head back against the headrest, again closing his eyes. Nursery rhymes. He hadn't tried them, yet. He spent the next several minutes fighting to concentrate on filling his head with every childhood story and rhyme he could remember. "We're here," came a voice from portside. _Thank God, _Connor thought.

The car came to a screeching halt at the side of the road. "Your dad's got a sweet ride, Connor," Clark said succinctly as he pushed open the car door and got out. He circled around the front of the car slowly and began to walk away from it. Diana opened the passenger door and rolled off of Connor onto her feet. He breathed deeply, "Yeah…sweet ride…"

Diana paused, stood up straight with her back to him in a perfect, dignified posture, and said over her shoulder, "Thank you, Connor Hawke."

"For what?" Connor asked, still trying to come back down to earth.

Diana turned around to face him and said facetiously, "For saving me from a trip through the windshield." Connor chuckled at that. She continued, "And for demonstrating…heroic restraint."

Connor's smile dropped from his face along with his jaw. _Oh, dear God, _he thought. The whole time it hadn't even occurred to him that Wonder Woman was empathic. She'd been aware of everything he had felt. Everything. Aghast, he stammered, "Diana, I am so sor…" He couldn't finish because her lips were suddenly on his. It wasn't a deep or passionate kiss by any stretch of the imagination. It was sweet. It was innocent. It barely lasted two seconds. But, it was imbued with gratitude, affection, and definitely something a bit more than just the familial or friendship, and he was not imagining that. Now that _really_ made his day. Connor wondered if that didn't mean that officially, or at least technically, he'd gotten to first base with Diana.

With her left hand placed on the shoulder of the car seat, and her face still within mere centimeters of his, she cautioned him darkly, "By the way, dear nephew, if you tell anyone about this little road trip, ever, you will know what it is to incite the wrath of an Amazonian." With mixed amusement, curiosity, and dread he lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgment. She reached across him with her free hand to get the mysterious manila folder and withdrew from the vehicle with it. _Message received,_ he thought to himself, as he exited the car and closed the door behind him.

Without altering his slow, deliberate pace, Clark approached the fence encircling the grounds. Diana asked Connor solemnly, "Give us a minute, will you?" Connor simply nodded, and she joined her friend at the fence. An ominous sign bearing the label "Belle Reve Sanitarium" under the facility's logo and the warning "KEEP OUT!" in oversized print hung against the barbed wire-topped barrier.

They'd arrived just as the sun began to set. The distant, orange-yellow orb had made contact with the horizon and began to disappear behind it. Astonishingly, the beautiful streams of red and orange blazing the sky and the bright, glaring yellows reflecting off of every piece of glass and metal did absolutely nothing to enhance the locality's dismal look. "I hate this place. I've always hated it. I still hate it. And, I still can't believe it. How in the _hell _did Chloe end up in Belle Reve?" Clark questioned desperately and in anger.

"Well, let's see," Diana said as she opened the folder and scanned the investigating officers' report. She dropped her voice somewhat so as not to let Connor hear, "Female, Caucasian, height 5'6", blonde hair, green eyes, picked up in vicinity during crime scene investigation of suspected murder victim Oliver Jonas Queen. Female suspect's hands found covered in blood. Will run blood type for match with victim. No ID, no fingerprints, no memory, unresponsive to questioning. Suspect presumed to be suffering from shock, extreme trauma, and/or advanced psychosis. Placed in protective custody and admitted to Belle Reve Sanitarium for observation and treatment under maximum security."

"So at best, they think they have a material witness, and at worst, a murder suspect," Clark deduced.

"There is one bit of good news," Diana encouraged, "They have no idea who they're holding. She's a total Jane Doe according to the report."

"Well, Chloe's that good at what she does and thorough if nothing else," He commented admiringly of his best friend from his youth. "This was always her nightmare. Her worst fear was that she'd end up in here. This is her hell," Clark contemplated aloud, the desperation and anger having returned to his voice.

"Well then, by Hera, let's get her out of there!" Diana declared resolutely. She turned back to Connor and motioned with her hand for him to join them as she called, "Connor!" He quickly joined the two of them. "Do you have a plan?" Diana asked.

"If Clark Kent, star reporter for the _Daily Planet, _and Diana Prince, ambassador for the island-nation of Themyscira, just walk in and start asking questions, that's going to create all kinds of trouble for 'ourselves' in this time period. We're too recognizable," Clark said matter-of-factly.

"So, what do we do?" Diana asked again.

"Simple. Junior, here, is going to get us in," Clark answered.

Connor hadn't anticipated that. He stepped closer while Diana verified, "Didn't that police report say something about 'maximum security'?"

"That's a relative term when you're talking about this place. No worries. I broke into and out of here lots of times, and I wasn't the only one. The official motto should be 'Belle Reve Sanitarium: Forty years of letting inmates right out the front door,'" Clark mocked scornfully.

Connor settled his eyes on the dreary facility before them. With bold resolve that equaled those of his two older allies, he stated, "Just tell me what you need me to do."

Within those dreaded walls, bound to labyrinthine corridors, were many rooms, all of them grim, dull, featureless, indistinguishable from one another. But one particular room harbored a solitary woman who happened to be Caucasian, approximately 5'6" in height, with blonde hair and green eyes. Surrounded by a padded interior and underneath harsh lighting, she huddled in the corner, balled up in the fetal position. With her mind all but gone and slipping rapidly further and further toward a state of catatonia, she endlessly babbled the same words over and over, "Clark, why weren't you here? Why weren't you here? Why, Clark,…weren't you here? …"


	5. Chapter 5: Breakout

Chapter 5: Breakout

.

_Well, I'm just glad you're not part of the obituaries. _(Clark Kent)  
_Yeah, or wearing a straitjacket at Belle Reve. _(Chloe Sullivan)  
_I'd _never _let that happen. _(Clark)  
– from _Tomb_

_._

BAM! In a spray of splinters and tiny metal fragments the lock on the front door of the Queens' apartment was blown away and the door itself forcibly kicked in. Three well-armed individuals dressed in plain, black suits and dark sunglasses filed through the broken open doorway. Exhibiting a commanding presence, the last one lit a cigarette in his mouth with his left hand as he entered the foyer. Removing his glasses and pocketing them along with his cigarette lighter, he said in an almost bored tone, "What are you waiting for? Find them."

The other two drew their automatic small arms and methodically made their way through every room in the apartment, kicking in more doors, checking closets, turning over beds, all in an effort to find what or whom they were looking for. Their leader sauntered over to the nearest couch and set himself down on the plush surface. He pulled out a semiautomatic pistol with his left hand and removed the cigarette from his mouth with his right, a wisp of smoke evacuating through his parted lips. He crossed his right arm over his chest and propped his left elbow on the right hand that still grasped the cigarette. Resting the side of the barrel of the gun against his temple flush with his long sideburns and combed-back hair, he closed his eyes as if enjoying a Zen moment and blew another waft of smoke out his nostrils.

After completing their search of the apartment, his two cohorts returned to the main living space, their weapons lowered at their sides, and made their report. "They must've left already, sir. Nobody's here; the place is empty." Their superior took a long draught from his cigarette and expelled another puff of smoke. One of the others removed his glasses and asked, "What now?"

Their leader, the epitome of poise, replied simply, "We wait," as he stroked those same elongated sideburns with the cold barrel of his handgun.

.

.

Across town, meanwhile, inside the lobby of Belle Reve Sanitarium, Connor Hawke walked up to something approximating a reception desk. "Uh, hello," he said in expectation.

An unkempt cropping of hair followed by a pair of eyes and a nose peaked out over the top of a spread open copy of the _Metropolis Inquisitor_. Connor thought to himself, _Worthless rag. Why would anyone read it? _He still couldn't believe that Aunt Lois actually worked there at one time. The clerk looked him over once and uninterestedly disappeared back behind his paper, saying, "Buddy, if you're looking for the Ace of Clubs, boy, are you in the wrong place." Connor examined his outfit briefly. Okay, so maybe he was overdressed for his current locale. Clark, Diana, and he were in such a hurry to leave the apartment that he hadn't even had time to change into something more casual.

Connor clenched the top of the paper and in one quick motion, pulled it down to the desk surface, looking the clerk straight in the eye. "What I'm looking for, _buddy, _is a patient that was admitted here today in the early a.m. The police brought in an unidentified woman. I think she might be my mother."

"You _think_? What makes you _think_ that?"

"She didn't come home last night. I know a guy on the force. He called me and told me that they picked up someone who looks just like her and brought her here. He wanted to know if my mom was safe," Connor explained, talking fast.

"And, why isn't your 'friend on the force' here with you, now?"

"He had to break police protocol to tell me about it."

"And what makes you think you're getting up there to see her after telling me all that?"

Connor could tell he was going to have to try a different tactic if he was going to get anywhere with this guy. "Look, all I want to do is see if the woman that they brought in is my mother. Five minutes is all it'll take. If she's not, I'm gone. If she is," Connor grinned and pointed right at the clerk to emphasize his point, "you get to be the one who collects on the tip to the MPD that identifies this crucial, unknown woman who's at the center of a very big investigation."

The clerk stared at Connor for several long moments before reaching over behind the desk to press the door release switch. The main, inner doors opened, and in walked a security guard and an orderly, and quite the gruff pair they made. The guard looked Connor up-and-down and wisecracked, "The nightclub district is on the other side of town, kid, but you look a little young to be clubbing, anyway." Strange. In all the nightclubs he'd been in, whether in Star City or Metropolis, not once did a bouncer or bartender ever doubt his age or the validity of any of his fake ID's.

"I already got that from this clown," Connor shot back while indicating the clerk with a hitchhiker's thumb gesture.

The facial expressions on both the orderly and the guard darkened. The guard unsheathed his nightstick and rested the blunt end on the center of Connor's chest, "I'd check that attitude at the door if I were you, kid." The guard failed to intimidate him, however; in fact, Connor didn't even flinch. Then, dim recognition partially lit his face as he peered more closely at the visage of the young man and said, "You know, you look familiar, kid. Like somebody I ought to know…"

"Good. Since we're such chummy pals, you can let me inside," Connor retorted.

"He seems to think that our guest on Level Four is his mommy. Take him up there and see." The clerk opened one of the desk drawers, took a visitor's pass from a short stack within, and clipped it to Connor's shirt. "Show this at all times. Do not take it off." The clerk opened the inner doors again and settled back into his chair, becoming fully re-immersed in the publication.

Connor thought back to what Clark and he talked about just before he walked into Belle Reve.

"_You sure this is going to work?"_

"_Connor, I could hear your heartbeat if you were standing right here and I was on the roof. Remember, all you have to do is whisper, and I'll hear it."_

Connor followed the orderly through the doors and the security guard followed him right behind. He quickly scanned the layout of the place and whispered quietly, "Uncle Clark, on the other side of the doors a corridor crosses the main entrance. We're going to the elevator off to the left, but the stairwell off to the right is empty." The clerk barely noticed the slight gust of wind rustling his tabloid as the inner doors closed. He took another peak above the so-called newspaper, looking left to right. Seeing nothing there, he shook his head slightly, and went right back to reading.

A second later, Clark and Diana appeared in the stairwell seemingly from nowhere.

"That was easy," remarked Diana.

"We're not there yet. The clerk told Connor that Chloe was on Level Four," Clark replied.

"I'll race you," Diana challenged and disappeared again in a blur. Clark pursued her up the flights of stairs, and they arrived together on the landing.

About twenty feet down the hall from them, Connor along with his escort exited the elevator. They turned left, walked down another fifty feet and turned right. Connor whispered quietly, "I hope you're seeing all this, Uncle Clark. Left from the elevator, past three corridors, turn right, all the way at the end." Connor observed his dreary surroundings as he was led deeper into the recesses of the building. It seemed the whole of the interior of Belle Reve was just one featureless, identical, white corridor lit by dim, harsh lighting after another. It was enough to drive someone insane, if they weren't already. He cringed to think of what he'll find in the room that awaited him.

Connor's hopes were answered. Clark was seeing and hearing everything. He followed Connor with his X-ray vision while still in the stairwell with Diana, taking note of every turn, every door, and every security camera along the route. He turned to her and explained the plan as she absorbed every detail, "All right. We go through that door, turn right, go fifty feet past the elevator, turn right again, and down the hall. It looks like Chloe's cell is the last one on the right." Clark turned back in the direction of their goal and scanned the immediate area around that room looking for a nearby place to hide. "There's another short corridor across from a fire extinguisher on the wall, just before where Chloe's being held. It's empty; we can duck in there. Got it?"

"What are we waiting for?" Diana asked him confidently.

"3…2…1." Clark and Diana made a mad dash toward their destination at speeds well into the hypersonic range. They arrived just in time to observe the security guard unlock the cell door and enter with Connor, the orderly, and a uniformed police officer. Clark once again let loose his barrier-penetrating vision to take in the scene. Diana simply looked around the corner and pulled back behind the wall. She moved far too fast to be seen but easily took in the whole end of the corridor using her hyper-fast reflexes.

Clark described what he saw, "I can't make out Chloe. It looks like she's crowded in the corner. There are three others inside with Connor, including a police officer."

"There are three more of them right outside," Diana reported.

"Four cops? Who do they think they got in there, anyway?" Clark whispered in disbelief.

"Just your average, high-profile, murder suspect. You think it would do any good to explain to them that they're holding the wife of Oliver Queen in there?" Diana whispered back.

Clark shot down the deliberately absurd suggestion, "Considering what she stands to inherit and receive from insurance benefits, I doubt it."

Connor stepped further into the lonely cell, recalling more of Clark's last words to him, as he did so. "_Now, remember, Connor. When you see your mom she is not going to be in the best of shape. But, you _have to_ keep cool. You can't tip these guys off that Chloe really is your mother. We'll be in right behind you to help. Just stay calm." _Bringing the far end of the room into focus, he was stunned to behold a silent, motionless, huddled mass dressed in standard, hospital-issue clothing reclining on the floor against the padded wall. He wanted to run over, pull her out of the corner, and hold her. He wanted to grab her and carry her out of this God-forsaken place himself. But, he didn't. He wanted to save her too much to do that, and now was not the time to lose his head. With Herculean effort, he suppressed every impulse, every emotion, and as evenly and steadily as he could, approached and knelt down beside her. Gingerly, he turned her over to look at her face. It was all he could do to hold back the tears and the shock. As he held her head gently in his hands, he mouthed the word "Mom" but all that came out was barely a whimper. It was Chloe Sullivan. And, she looked like hell.

.

.

Meanwhile, at the Queens' place, one of the henchmen answered his cell phone and listened to the voice on the other end relay the information they were waiting for. He hung up and said, "Sir, the woman is being held at Belle Reve. Her son is there, too, right now."

"Let's go," their leader said, rising from the couch. He dropped what was left of his cigarette butt on the floor and extinguished it by pressing it into the expensive carpeting with his shoe, leaving a stain. Recalling some minor afterthought he'd forgotten, he turned to one of the others. Gesturing to him, he said, "Oh, uh, leave a message," and then stepped out of the apartment. His two companions drew their weapons once again and both sprayed the entire immediate area with gunfire, between them emptying the equivalent of half a magazine into the walls of the Queens' sometime residence. They then collected their weapons and hurried after their superior.

.

.

"This broad your old lady, kid?" the guard crassly put to the stricken Connor Hawke. Now Connor's grief turned to outrage, but he chose to suppress that, too. Decking the guard may well give him a brief moment of satisfaction and diffuse some of his anger, but it would do nothing to help his mother. And, right now, his concern was with her.

Several feet away and still out of sight, both Clark and Diana heard the guard's question. "Connor's going to need our help in there any second," Diana warned.

"See that swivel-security cam tucked in the corner of the ceiling? We move as soon as it's pointed away from the cell door. You take care of Metropolis's Finest while I take the heat off of Connor," Clark responded.

"Kal, maybe I should be the one to…"

"Now!"

Diana hesitated only a second before speeding around the bend. Three precision-aimed blows in rapid succession later, the blue contingent outside the room was rendered unconscious before they even knew what hit them. Then, levitating off of the floor to a foot or two in the air, she reached up and crushed the rotating mechanism on the sec cam between her thumb and forefinger, leaving it permanently directed back down the hall. Descending again, she quickly joined Clark and Connor already inside the room.

Upon entering, Diana just barely avoided tripping over the downed orderly. Carefully stepping over him, the guard, and the officer, she looked up and caught sight of Clark nearby just as he laid eyes on Chloe. The blood immediately drained from his face leaving it pale, his eyebrows turned upward in anguish, and his mouth dropped slightly. Whatever robbed Connor of his voice a moment ago now took possession of Clark. He feebly tried to mouth the name "Chloe" but did not quite succeed; neither did any sound escape his lips. A fraction of a second was all it took for him to blur to Chloe's side and kneel down right next to Connor.

Clark had to hold back the building inferno inside of him as with one quick hand motion he tore through all of the belts strapping Chloe into her straitjacket. He then ripped the jacket open and off of her, joggling her. "Why did they put her in a straitjacket when she can barely move?" Clark said aloud, the contempt verily dripping from his words. With care that sharply contrasted his rough removal of Chloe's bonds, Clark gathered her up and cradled her in his arms.

"Uncle Clark, what's wrong with her? Why is she like this?" Connor asked, the distress in his voice clearly audible.

Clark looked deeply into her eyes and called, "Chloe? ...Chloe say something to me…Chloe!" His breathing quickened as his eyes surveyed her all over. She didn't move at all, not even her eyes. Dark streaks had visibly emerged in her otherwise blonde hair, which clung—still unwashed from last night's rain—to her wan face. Her eyes, lifeless, soulless, stared far past Clark toward some unknown, vague, distant point in space. Her breathing was haggard and shallow. Her whole appearance was one of complete dishevelment. Clark tenderly drew the strands of her hair away from her face. Returning to her eyes, he desperately whispered, "Chloe…"

Diana hurried over to Clark's side, took one look at Chloe, and turned away saying to her two male companions, "We need to get her out of here." Clark acted like he didn't even hear. He continued supporting Chloe's propped up form with his arms, resting her head in the fold of his arm, gently holding the side of her face with his hand and caressing it, as if waiting for her to come to. Diana shook Clark's shoulder and tried louder, "Kal, snap out of it. There's no time for this." Still not getting any response, she grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt and jacket and yanked him over forcing him to look at her instead of Chloe. "CLARK!" she shouted wide-eyed at him.

Clark's expression instantly altered. The blood rushed back to his face turning it to a shade approaching purple. His eyes also widened, too, and he gave Diana a look as if he was about to break her in half or perhaps strike her with enough force to send her clean through every wall until she cleared the side of the building. However, before that could happen, all three pairs of eyes were drawn back to Chloe when she suddenly stirred in Clark's arms.

Chloe sat bolt upright and called aloud, "Clark! …Clark, why weren't you here? Why weren't you here, Clark? Clark, why weren't you?"

Clark's expression fell like an avalanche. Shutting his eyes, he lowered his head until his forehead rested against Chloe's. "I'm here, Chloe…Chloe, I'm right here. Please say you can hear me…I'm here for you now, Chloe. I'm right here."

Connor, reaching his quota of anxiety for the day, pleaded to Diana, "What's wrong with him?"

Diana, determined to reach him, said again, "Clark, this isn't helping her. She can't hear a word you're saying. She doesn't even know what she's saying. She's just babbling." Diana turned Clark's head back to her with her hand as his eyes opened to her. "Clark, we need to get Chloe out of here, now!"

Clark shook his head and blinked, coming awake. He turned back to Chloe, carefully inserting one arm under her knees and the other underneath her shoulder blades, and lifted her delicately up into his arms, easing her head against his broad chest. Not wanting anything whatsoever to disturb her still frame, he didn't even stand up. Instead, he became airborne and extended his legs until his feet touched the floor. He strode with intent toward the exit, but seeing Chloe in her current state had engendered something in Clark's consciousness, and from that moment it had been growing into something overpowering, even for him. Steadily, it built up inside of him. Inexorably, it engulfed him. Unrelenting, it demanded to be given utterance. One step away from the room's threshold, it compelled Clark to halt. In the several seconds he took standing there tense, rigid, and unmoving, it achieved critical mass. Clark shifted Chloe to one arm and grabbed hold of the door with his free arm. With a bitter, savage cry that came forth from his very core, he wrenched loose the door from its hinges and hurled it discus-style behind him. The door sailed through the one-way mirrored glass that (up to that moment) formed much of the room's rear wall, reducing it to small shards that fell to the ground, and forcibly lodged itself about two-thirds of the way into the wall of the corridor just beyond. Remarkable, considering both the door and the wall were made of solid steel. Returning Chloe securely to both his arms, Clark disappeared instantly, departing the room at super speed.

Diana folded her arms and casually studied the radical change in architecture. "Subtle, Kal. Real nice," she dryly commented.

Connor, dumbstruck, found his voice again and asked, "What did that door ever do to him?"

She sighed, "Nothing. I suspect that what Clark just did to the door is what he'd like to do to everyone who put Chloe in her situation…including himself."

Not quite understanding, he replied, "Huh?"

Diana waved it off, "Never mind. Let's get out of here before security actually does decide to show up."

"Fine by me," Connor said, "Grab me and let's go."

"No. You can't come up here and just disappear without drawing all kinds of suspicion. We need to cover all our tracks."

Connor looked at Diana for several seconds, then down at the felled personnel lying on the floor. He leaned to one side to look around Diana at the sizable glass window reduced to pieces strewn on the floor of the room and hall and the door protruding from the wall, then stood straight to look at Diana again. "A little pointless, now, don't you think?"

"Trust me, Connor," Diana insisted, "We do this right and no one will even remember you were here, which is exactly what we want. Now, go back down to the desk like everything's normal, give them back the visitor's pass, and tell them it was all a mistake, that she is not your mother. Then walk out like nothing happened and meet us by the car. Okay?" With that, Diana disappeared in like manner to Clark.

Connor, a bit dazed, walked out of the cell and returned to the elevator. When he got back down to the ground floor, he turned the corner and punched the panel on the wall to open the double, security doors. He felt a cool breeze as Diana and Clark still carrying Chloe zipped from the stairwell landing past him through the open doors. Connor followed at a much slower, more human pace.

He walked up to the reception desk again, unclipped the visitor's pass from his shirt, and dropped it down on the desk in front of the clerk. "My mistake. Not my Mom. I'll just show myself out. Thanks for your help."

"Hold on there," the clerk said as he stood up from his chair, "Where are the guard and orderly that were with you?"

Connor shrugged, "They got called to another room. They told me to go straight down to the lobby, don't stop along the way, goodbye."

The clerk nodded once and pointed directly at Connor, saying, "You. Don't go anywhere." He picked up the receiver from the desk phone, pressed the first extension button, and spoke into the receiver, "I need security in the lobby, now."

Connor dropped his head and sighed under his breath, "Oh, sh…" …Shhhhhoooooooooom! Amidst a flurry of papers flying off the desk, the clerk looked up from the phone to see Connor no longer standing there or anywhere else in view. The clerk looked all about the lobby, but he was the only one there. He spoke again into the phone, "Uh, false alarm. Scratch that call for security." Bewildered, he hung up, sat back down in his chair, and stroked his eyes.

Beyond the fenced-off grounds of the sanitarium facility, Clark waited anxiously back at Oliver's car, holding Chloe tightly to him. He looked somberly at her still vacant countenance. "Hang on just a little longer, Chloe," he encouraged as he brought his lips to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. A single tear discharged from his right eye and made its way down his cheek.

Diana sped blurredly up to Clark while carrying someone herself: Connor Hawke. Connor gripped Diana closer to him. He closed his eyes and smiled dreamily as he emitted a contented sigh. "Thanks, Diana," he said as he settled his head against her ample bosom, "I'd rather be picked up by you than security, any day."

Diana looked heavenward and unceremoniously dropped him into the dirt at her feet, adding, "I wish I could say the same," swiping her palms for good measure. Lowering her eyes, she glimpsed Clark, did a double take, and gave him a look as if a second head was emerging from his shoulders. She reached up and with her fingers traced the shiny, wet trail his tear had left on his face. Annoyed at this intrusion, Clark jerked his head away from the offending hand, scowled, and attended Chloe again.

"…Ow," Connor said in a plain, not whiny, voice, his pride injured as much as the rest of him. He looked up at Diana and caught sight of Clark holding his mother in his arms. "Mom!" he blurted out and leapt to his feet. "What now, Uncle Clark? Is my Mom going to be all right?" Connor asked, the anxiety returning to his voice.

"If we have anything to say about it," Clark asserted. Making his right hand into a fist exposing his Legion ring, Clark gave a nod to Diana.

Diana held the back of her open right hand up to Connor and instructed him, "Take my hand."

Connor looked at the Legion ring before him, then to Diana. He grinned elatedly with a sparkle in his eyes and grasped Diana's right hand firmly in his own. "With pleasure," he replied.

Bright light began to radiate from both rings. As the luminous rays penetrated the atmosphere, molecules in the air scattered the specifically violet emissions found within, causing the expanding field of pure white to take on an aura of rich violet. The emanations increased in number, length, direction, and intensity until they wholly enveloped Clark, Chloe, Diana, and Connor within their refulgence. Then, immediately, the light began to rapidly recede. When it subsided, all four had vanished.

.

.

At that precise moment, three black suits bearing weapons walked into the lobby of Belle Reve Sanitarium. Unimpressed by the hardware, the clerk queried, "Can I help..." His expression changed to one of vague recognition. "Hey, don't I know you?" he directed at the individual with long sideburns whom the other two flanked.

"Do you?" he said back mildly amused, "Well, in that case..." Reaching into his jacket with his left hand, he drew a silencer-capped pistol and shot the clerk point-blank in the chest. Holstering his weapon, he ordered the man on his right, "Get these doors open." In quick compliance, the minion made his way behind the desk and activated the door release mechanism, opening the security doors. The three concealed their weapons and made their way to the elevator. Stepping inside, the leader bid, "Level Four."

A passing doctor in a lab coat caught sight of them moving unescorted. She hurried over to the elevator and asked, "Can I help you gentlemen...?"

"No, thanks. We're good. But, the guy at the front desk could probably use a doctor," the leader advised just as the elevator doors shut.

A minute later, the three exited the elevator with guns lifted at the ready and made their way toward their target.

"Which one is it?"

"Room 4068. Turn right, end of the corridor."

They quickly traversed the long hallway and came upon the police officers just as they were coming to. Not even on their feet yet, they tried to draw their guns upon seeing the hit men approach but not quickly enough. A spray of ammo and blood later, all four cops with the security guard and the orderly were gunned down. Placing his arms behind his back, the leader coolly entered the cell and inspected the location. He regarded the rent hinges, the lack of a rear wall, the shattered glass, and the oddly-situated door that was literally _in _the hall. He turned back to his attendants and slowly, deliberately shut and opened his eyes again. "Well?"

"They're not here, sir."

"I can see that, you idiot!" he said, irked by the obviousness of the statement. He turned back around toward the far side of the room and added, "But, they were here, all of them. Now they're gone, probably for good."

"Then, we've failed. We only took out the Arrow. Chloe Sullivan and the son of Oliver Queen still live," his lieutenant imparted, "Boss isn't going to like that."

"You have no idea," their superior confirmed gravely.

"We might as well kill ourselves now and get it over with," the third suggested.

"Coward!" the leader reproved, trading his cool, calm exterior, for one of indignation. He grabbed his associate by the collar, pulling him down forcefully as if to put him in a head-lock, and spoke directly into his ear with a voice full of disdain, "Your life isn't yours to take!" The underling, off-balance and bent over, struggled with both hands against his superior's grip on his attire. He continued, informing his minion, "If our failure here merits death, then you will die by _his_ hand and by _his_ decree, and not a moment sooner!"

"Yes, sir!"

The leader shoved his associate away in disgust. Hitting the padded surface of the nearby wall without regaining his balance in time, he fell to the floor. "Get up!" his chief commanded as he turned to the door and stalked past his other, still-standing lieutenant, "We're leaving."

.

.

Momentarily blinded and with his eyes tightly shut, Connor could nonetheless make out that the piercing light that had encompassed them only seconds before had now faded. He also registered that the ground had acquired a much harder and more solid consistency than the patch of dirt he'd previously been standing on. Opening his eyes slowly, he let his vision adjust and focused on three youthful individuals bounding toward them. One had dark hair and sported a bit of it on his face, another was a blonde-haired girl, and the last a red-haired male.

"You made it!" the red-haired youth proclaimed excitedly. His eyes advanced from person to person until they settled on Connor. Then, his expression changed from excitement to wonder.

Connor turned his head slightly toward Diana without breaking eye contact with this stranger who appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Who…?" Connor trailed off.

"Connor, say hello to Cosmic Boy, Saturn Girl, and this animated young man is Lightning Lad," Diana apprised him quietly.

"Step back, Garth. Give our guests some room to breathe," the young man with the facial hair chided lightly. The other, red-haired, young man, looking a trifle dejected, backed off while his darker-haired colleague stepped forward. "Connor Hawke, I presume?" he tentatively put forward. Connor looked at him warily. "My name is Rokk Krinn. This is Imra Ardeen and Garth Ranzz. Welcome...to the 31st century."


	6. Chapter 6: Intermission

**A/N: **For anyone who has yet to view the later seasons of _Smallville_ and still intends to, this chapter contains a few major spoilers for 7 Season's episode _Action,_ 8 Season's episode _Legion,_ 9 Season's finale _Salvation,_ 10 Season's premiere _Lazarus,_ and the Series _Finale._

* * *

.

Chapter 6: Intermission

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_Every world needs its heroes, Clark. They inspire us to be better than we are.  
__And, they protect us from the darkness that's just around the corner. _– Martha Kent; from _Zod_

.

_Yesterday…_

_June 29, 1023 EL (Era of the Legion) or AD 3011…_

"No. Absolutely not. Under no circumstances whatsoever. No," the head Legionnaire, Rokk Krinn a.k.a. Cosmic Boy, adamantly refused.

"How uncanny. I believe those were Kal-El's exact words to me when I suggested it to him," the Martian Manhunter replied.

"This is your brainchild, J'onn J'onzz? I don't believe it," Rokk said stunned. He hung his head in his hand for a brief second before lifting it back up to continue, "You three are the last ones that I ever expected to come to me with something like this. Diana, you always go on about Fate. J'onn, you're always concerned about destiny. And Kal-El, you're still more afraid of meddling with time than Clark Kent ever was of kryptonite."

"Have you read the same reports we have? Seen the same video footage?" contended he, who once was known as Clark Kent but who now was known throughout the galaxy almost exclusively by his original Kryptonian name, Kal-El.

"Of course, I have," Rokk answered gravely.

"Six planets, Rokk. That's how many we've lost. More than a billion people, not to mention over two dozen Legionnaires. Apokolips may still be on the other side of the galaxy for now, but it's advancing like a juggernaut despite everything you throw at it. And, it's coming right here," Kal-El said striking the conference table with his index finger to emphasize the point, "We have to do something or the Legion is going to lose this war before it's even begun."

"That's why I found you, again, Kal-El. That's why we found all three of you and asked you to join with the Legion in fighting Darkseid. _You_ were supposed to do something," Rokk reminded his three allies sitting around the table with him.

"We're already doing all we can for the Legion," Kal-El insisted, "This isn't a war you can win by building bigger weapons or finding more powerful allies. You're not up against Omega Beams or Female Furies or Parademons, at least not yet. It's just like it was a thousand years ago. This is a living darkness—a corruption. It takes root inside you and clings to every doubt, every dark impulse, every negative thought, and grows and consumes you from the inside out until there's nothing left but a disciple of Darkseid." Kal-El then pleaded, "We're out of options. Let us do this."

"I don't see how this person can do anything that the three of you can't," Rokk discounted doubtfully.

"You don't have to see. All you have to do is trust us. All three of us know well what she is capable of. She was one of us. And, she is exactly what this Legion needs now," Diana attested placidly.

"We assure you that her credentials as a hero are impeccable," J'onn affirmed, "not to mention her skills as a warrior."

Kal-El began rattling off from long memory just some of those credentials, "She was a member of the Justice League. She worked with us in the field. She was our first Watchtower for years when the system first went online. She was our backup Watchtower for more than a decade. She was even a member of the Suicide Squad. She was checked out on every kind of weapon in her time from firearms to explosives to stun grenades. She was a black belt in…how many kinds of martial arts?"

"Including a distinctly Themysciran fighting style that is formidable, efficient, and lethal. Guess who personally taught her that," Diana said with arms folded, looking rather formidable herself.

"All of which has nothing to do with the real reason why we need her. She wasn't just a hero; she was a hero to heroes. I ought to know. But, if you're worried about whether she can hold her own in a fight, don't be," Kal-El made their closing argument with.

"Is there anything else this super woman can do?" Rokk Krinn asked somewhat flippantly.

"Yeah," Clark responded in like tone as he sat back in his chair, "she can dance the tango."

"If we do this…" Rokk paused and sighed, "Look, all of you know the Legion Code. You do _not _interact with _anyone _else in the 21st century. You do _not _contact the Justice League in the time you're going to or try to work in tandem with them. And, you do not, I repeat, do _not _interfere with the death of Oliver Queen. We may be still a bit sketchy on a lot of the details of the early 21st century, but one thing is not. History clearly dictates that Oliver Jonas Queen died on April 14, 2029. That does not change."

Kal-El hesitated.

"Those are the rules, Kal-El. You have to leave the 21st century exactly in the way you remember it. This one is out of my hands; the Legion won't have it any other way. So either we do it this way, or we all take our chances here and now with Darkseid and Apokolips," Rokk offered as he folded his hands.

Kal-El didn't move at first. Then, he nodded silently.

"I want your word. Clark Kent may have lied from time to time way back in the past, but Superman does not. Kal-El of Krypton does not." Cosmic Boy waited patiently, expectantly. "Your word."

"You have my word," Kal-El gave.

"All right. Chloe Sullivan, then, will also join the fight," Rokk pronounced as he stood from the conference table.

"_And_ Connor Hawke," Kal-El insisted. He lifted his head to make direct eye contact with the young leader of the Legion of Super-Heroes.

"Kal-El—" Rokk began.

"No, I'm not going to back down over this," Kal-El swiftly interrupted as he rose from the table. He pointed firmly and unwaveringly at Rokk as he continued, "I am not going to ask Chloe Sullivan to spend one minute in this century without her son. Especially right after becoming a widow…and Connor an orphan."

Rokk glanced down guiltily. Kal-El pressed the advantage, "Besides, the way all three of us remember it, Chloe and Connor disappeared the day after Oliver Queen was killed. Both were presumed dead but neither body was ever found."

Rokk opened his mouth to protest, but Kal-El cut him off, "You're the one that doesn't want to alter history."

Rokk knew Kal-El had him. He threw up his hand in resignation, "Go. And good luck." With that, he exited the conference room.

Kal-El turned to his partners and said, "All right, we have a mission. J'onn, I don't think you need anyone to tell you what to do. You'll be working alone on this one."

"That is how I work best. I will not fail," J'onn declared undaunted.

"Diana, you're with me," Kal-El said to his nearly lifelong friend.

Diana nodded in agreement, "So, are we heading right to Belle Reve, or—"

"No. First, I want to say goodbye to a dear, old friend. You should probably pick out something in black," Kal-El advised. He turned to the door and the three left the conference room empty behind them as he added, "After that, we'll need to make a house call. And then, it's onto Belle Reve."

.

.

Connor couldn't believe his eyes, his ears, or the day he was having. He tried to let the words he'd just heard sink in. "The 31st century…" he said not even realizing he'd spoken aloud.

"The year 3011 to be precise," the blonde girl—Imra—clarified, "according to your calendar." She approached Connor and looked at him intently until Diana stepped directly between them.

"Imra, don't," Diana spoke in a very firm tone.

Imra's concentrated gaze relaxed and she began looking around the room, fidgeting awkwardly. Rokk took her by the forearm and gently pulled her back a ways. "Saturn Girl, I thought we agreed you weren't going to do that anymore," he scolded mildly.

"I didn't…realize…" Imra tried to recover.

"How many times have we discussed this? We're not on Titan. It isn't polite to drop into people's minds unannounced, especially after just arriving as our guest."

"I get it, Rokk. I'm sorry, okay? I just found him…intriguing," she explained looking back at Connor. Judging from the way he was looking over at her, Connor was equally intrigued.

"Okay, now that everyone knows each other," Clark began trying to draw everyone's attention to the matter at hand, "_Chloe_ could really use our help." He turned purposefully to the door and headed out of the room still carrying Chloe protectively in his arms. Diana and Rokk fell in at his sides and the rest followed. As they headed down the corridor, Clark questioned Rokk, "Is everything ready in the infirmary?"

"You and Diana left only a minute ago, Kal-El," Rokk reasoned.

"Well, it's been almost two hours for us. Where is he?" Clark replied.

"Not to worry. Our resident surgeon-physician is already down there patiently awaiting his patient," Imra reassured.

"So, you're Connor Hawke? You're Kal-El's nephew and the son of Red Javelin," Garth Ranzz said enthusiastically with a broad smile on his face.

"My father is the Green Arrow," Connor corrected. Garth furrowed his eyebrows in consideration. Connor broke the awkward silence that followed, "So, you three are the ones who founded and lead the Legion of Super-Heroes?"

Rokk dropped back a few steps from Clark to walk alongside Connor and remarked, "You sound surprised."

"No. Well, I guess I just expected you to be, you know, older," Connor admitted.

"We're probably not that much older than you are, Connor," Imra indicated.

"Exactly," Connor agreed.

"But then, we're not human like you, either," Rokk pointed out.

Connor stopped and turned back and forth carefully studying them all, "None of you are from Earth?"

"Nope, all of us are from other planets. Just like Kal-El," Garth proudly affirmed.

"Not all of us. I happen to be from a moon. Titan, which orbits Saturn. That's how I got my name," Imra Ardeen a.k.a. Saturn Girl informed, "Rokk's homeworld is called 'Braal.' And Garth is from—"

"Winath!" Garth interrupted a little too quickly. Finding himself the focus of three pairs of eyes, Garth decided on tactful silence for the time being.

"All places a lot more local than far-flung Krypton. Pretty much everyone in the Legion is from the Milky Way Galaxy or at least within the cosmic neighborhood," Rokk added.

"The whole galaxy? So, where are we exactly? What is this place?" Connor asked cautiously.

"Oh, we're still on Earth. In fact, you're in Metropolis, although the city has grown some over the years. This is Legion Headquarters, our base of operations," Rokk revealed. He indicated with a motion of the head that by stopping, they had fallen behind and need to rejoin the others. Connor and the Legionnaires caught up to Diana and Clark just as he was entering the infirmary with Chloe. Everyone else followed into the medical facility.

The color white and totally smooth surfaces both flat and curved dominated the ceiling, floor, walls, every area of the wide-open space. The whole room was illuminated from above with bright, soft lighting. The main area was partitioned off into several compartments, the purpose of which seemed to be more to organize the sorting of patients rather than to afford them any privacy. Each compartment contained two to four raised platforms. At first inspection, each platform seemed little more than a hollow indentation containing a cushioned pad large enough for most humanoids to recline and rest comfortably in. However, each platform extended beyond both the head and foot of the mattress, and the glassy, quartz-like surface of each terminus presented an advanced digital interface. These interfaces were capable of rendering multiple two-dimensional displays including screens, images, and touch-sensitive control consoles on the platform surface itself, as well as three-dimensional, fully interactive, holographic projections in the space above the platform. Their uses were nearly limitless, including monitoring vital signs, calling up medical records, analyzing biological and physiological data, using holographic models in the planning and performing of surgery, conferring with other doctors and medical staff over great distances, enabling patients to browse databases, occupy their time with games and other entertainments, communicate with friends and family, etc. Part bed, part work station, sixteen such composite platforms could be seen from the entrance area; more lay beyond view. Adjoining this main room were several more rooms with fewer beds, an isolation unit, a dedicated laboratory, and a central consultation/conference area from which the entire complex could be overseen. This was obviously not a triage center, but a fully equipped hospital. The only thing missing, it seemed, was the medical staff.

Clark and company brought Chloe into the nearest semi-private compartment where someone was already waiting for them. A man standing just over 5'9" with light complexion, and short, wavy, brown hair, and gray eyes bid them enter and motioned toward one of the beds. He wore typical surgeon's garb but for an atypical choice of colors. His V-neck shirt was a shade of green, his scrub pants were bright purple, and his lab coat was a muted indigo. Odd color configurations aside, Connor couldn't get over how empty the place was. Save for this single individual, who Connor presumed was the doctor on duty, the infirmary seemed bereft of both patients and personnel. Given the extent of the facility, he was puzzled by the lack of a single medical team, let alone more.

Clark set Chloe carefully down on the first cushioned platform, attempting to ease her body out of the rigid position she had assumed in his arms but not having much success. The trichromic physician stepped up to the platform opposite Clark and mused, "Well, well, well. A familiar face. Hello, Chloe Sullivan."

"We need you to find out exactly what's wrong with her and how to save her."

"Of course you do, Kal-El," he responded as he looked Chloe over. He then bent down and carefully stretched open one of her eyelids with his thumb and forefinger to examine closely the oculus within.

"Well?"

He stood up straight again and looked up at Clark. "She's breathing."

"That's your expert medical opinion?"

"It's the best I can do in six seconds."

"You're going to have to do better than that."

"Then, I require more time than that, I'm afraid," he countered dispassionately as he placed the palm of his hand gently on his new patient's forehead. His aloofness was a sharp contrast to Clark's heightened concern.

"So, who's this guy?" Connor asked, sizing the doctor up, "And why is he dressed like the Joker?"

"I'm pleased to finally make your acquaintance, as well, Connor Hawke," he said with his focus still on Chloe. He then faced the youth, "Unfortunate and unintentional coincidences with nefarious, homicidal sociopaths aside, indigo and purple and green happen to be my colors."

"Connor Hawke, Brainiac Five. Brainiac Five, Connor Hawke," Clark distractedly introduced the two, never taking his eyes off of Chloe.

"Brainiac?" Connor instantly jumped from suspicion to elevated alarm.

"Five," Brainiac 5 specified as he lifted his palm from Chloe's forehead.

"Are you all out of your minds? Do you have any idea what he did to my mother? Get the hell away from her you silicon son-of-a—" Connor sprung from his spot with the intent of vaulting over the platform and knocking Brainiac to the ground with both legs, but before he could even come close to his goal, Diana grabbed hold of him. Rokk rushed to put himself between Brainiac and Connor, holding him at arm's length with his hand on his chest. Even Clark looked up from Chloe because of the commotion.

"Woah! Connor! Brainiac Five is one of us," Rokk defended.

"He's a member of the Legion, Connor. Has been for years now," Garth added.

"Ever since we extracted him from your mother, brought him back here to the 31st century, and reprogrammed him," Imra said lastly.

"You have nothing to fear from me," Brainiac 5 stated calmly in order to assuage Connor's apprehension, "I'm not the Brainiac whom you've clearly heard told about. That version has been permanently discontinued. With Kal-El's help, the Legion has made me a new man."

"You're not a man. You're a machine," Connor returned unconvinced.

Brainiac advanced from the bed toward Connor as he said, "No need to get personal. I may not be organic, that doesn't mean I'm not alive. I've seen the error of my ways, repented of past sins, and devoted myself to the cause of righteousness and truth." He spread his arms in grandiose fashion, proclaiming, "I'm a born-again Brainiac." He extended his hand for a friendly shake. "Brainiac Five."

Connor stared at the appendage offered in friendship for what seemed like an eternity. Grudgingly, he took it, shook it up and down once, and quickly withdrew his hand, conspicuously wiping his palm on his shirt. "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure."

"Indeed, it is. Despite the fact that in the 73 seconds I've known you, Connor Hawke, you've given me every reason not to, I like you. The two of us are going to be friends by the time all this is done."

"Zero chance," Connor plainly said.

"Brainiac!" Clark impatiently insisted, "Chloe requires your attention, now!"

Brainiac resumed his station beside his patient. "Why so agitated, Kal-El?" Brainiac inquired as his hand returned to Chloe's forehead and began to emit a soft, yellow glow, "I haven't seen you this anxious since we first met at your high school reunion."

"Just help her."

"Oh…I see," Brainiac said as realization dawned in his artificial intelligence, "I am going to need some time, Kal-El. Why don't you and Diana take this opportunity to change into your regular uniforms?"

Clark looked again at his cherished friend lying alone, vulnerable, helpless. Chloe's eyes were closed now, and she seemed to be breathing easier. Clark was grateful he didn't have to see her hauntingly blank stare into nothingness or hear her lungs fighting to expand and contract. She could not be aware of anything going on around her or how dramatically her life had been altered over the past twenty-four hours, relatively speaking, when one discounts the thousand-year jump in time.

"I know you are very concerned for her, Kal-El, but there really is nothing you can do for her, right now. Take time to rest, both of you." Clark raised his eyes back to Brainiac and noticed he was looking past him. Following Brainiac's stare, he turned his head to see Diana standing close and placing a hand on his own shoulder.

"Come on, Kal. Chloe's in good hands," Diana said as her hand left Clark's shoulder to grasp Chloe's hand and her eyes left Clark's face to settle on Chloe's. She may not be showing it as openly as Clark, but Diana was no less concerned for their friend than he was.

Clark asked of Connor, "You'll be okay for awhile?"

"It's not that I don't trust you, Uncle Clark, or Diana or even the Legion. I don't trust _him_. Besides, I can't leave my mom like this," Connor replied taking his place at the bedside opposite Brainiac, eyeing him closely. Unmoved, the living machine silently continued his scans and probes of Chloe in search of a diagnosis and cure.

As he and Diana left for their respective personal quarters, Clark besought of the three Legionnaires, "Keep an eye on them?"

"Will do, Kal-El," Garth assured.

.

.

Clark looked once more around the sparse room. There wasn't much to see. There was a bed, a nightstand, a bureau, a mirror, a desk, and a couple of chairs. Even though technically, like Diana and J'onn, he'd been a resident of Legion HQ for nearly a month, Clark still considered these quarters to be only temporary lodgings. There wasn't much call, therefore, to decorate or customize his quarters. But, right now, he really wished he had. He could use just about any kind of distraction at this point. He had no idea how much time had gone by since leaving Chloe and Connor in the infirmary; only that he had spent it in solitude and quiet, deep reflection with only those thoughts to keep him company. His thoughts, and of course, all the trappings of his colorful Superman suit which lay spread out on the bed before him.

Clark had long since disrobed thoroughly of all he'd worn during his and Diana's brief sojourn to the past. But, he had yet to don anything in its place. Every time he tried, he found himself repeating a ritual of sorts that he'd manage to perfect in the time since coming back here from the infirmary. It went something like this: First, he would pick up from the bed some part of the Superman suit—the cape, the belt, a boot, the shirt was a very frequent choice—and stare at it at length, sometimes turning it in his hands to inspect it from all angles. Next, he would attempt to put the article of clothing on, bringing it close to whatever part of his body it corresponded to. Then, Clark's hands would freeze as if coming up against some unseen, impenetrable barrier. After struggling futilely for several seconds to a minute, he would drop the piece of the suit back onto the bed with the rest of the ensemble. Finally, he would pace to the far side of his quarters, pause, turn, and backtrack his steps just taken. Disheartened, Clark found himself almost at the top of the cycle once again, walking back to his bed where his Superman apparel still awaited him.

Catching sight of himself in the mirror as he passed in front of it, he discovered a way to vary this latest repetition. Perhaps his twin, caught up in the same endless cycle as himself, had made greater progress—achieved success where he had not. He approached his reflection and put to the equally unclad, identical figure that stood on the other side of the glass surface his most pressing question, "Who are you?" Alas, no such luck. In place of insight, all he got was the same question put back to him. That other Clark was as confused as he was. _All right then, let's try this one more time._

Clark returned to his bed and scanned the different parts of his suit for something to attempt to try on again. He grasped the edge of his red cape with one hand and pulled it down as he reached up underneath the fabric with his other hand. He then grasped the cape with that hand and performed the same motion, alternating his hands. He continued to roll the cape through his arms as though climbing a rope until the emblem of the House of El outlined within a diamond-shaped field of bright yellow and set in the center of the upper portion of the cape rested in his hands. His thoughts drifted back to that day in the distant past when filming of the _Warrior Angel_ movie at the Kent Farm had wrapped. That day the famous lead actress on the film, Rachel Davenport, whose life Clark had saved more than once, left him a gift: what would become Superman's first cape. It was indeed the very mantle he now held. Martha Kent would be the one to later add the yellow emblem to it when she fashioned the rest of his first suit. A U.S. senator in Washington, and she still found time to sew together new clothes for her grown son. As his thoughts centered on his beloved adoptive mother, Clark dropped the cape back down on the bed and found the shirt right beside it. He picked it up next, stretching the material in his hands until a similar emblem displayed in plain view. It bore the same shape and outline as its brother but was set in red and yellow against the otherwise blue fabric at the breast. Superman's iconic 'S'-shield. This symbol full of meaning, memory, and destiny that signified his present, his past, and now it would seem his future. He spoke to it and to himself when he next asked, "Who are you? Do you know?"

He sat himself down on the edge of the bed with one leg up resting on the mattress and the other down with his foot resting on the floor. He continued to study his family crest as he continued to question aloud, "Are you Kal-El, the Last Son of Krypton? Are you Clark Kent, ordinary citizen of Smallville and Metropolis? Are you Superman, the Man of Steel, savior of the Earth and hero to billions? Are you the Man of Tomorrow, whose memory is revered and worshipped by a galaxy and inspired the Legion to come together in the first place a millennium after you grew up?"

He felt as though his soul was stripped bare like the rest of him. Perhaps that was why he was examining it with such intense scrutiny. In a lot of ways he felt as much like a man out of time as Connor must be feeling. _Chloe, too, if she could only feel, that is. No, _when _she begins to feel again. _So very much had changed in a thousand years. _But, shouldn't it have? Don't you want the world to be different, to have grown, to have progressed over so much time? _Maybe it was because he felt that the world had left him behind. _No, you left the Earth behind, a long time ago._

The truth was that Clark Kent, Superman, Kal-El had all been out of circulation for a very lengthy period of time. He'd been so happy during the time he'd just returned from. Happy because of Lois, because of Chloe, because of Oliver and Bruce and Bart and the rest of the Justice League. He had family. He had friends. He had those whom he loved and who loved him. But, no one can live forever, at least, no one human can, and his happiness was relatively short-lived. His mother, Martha, was the first to leave him. At least she died peacefully, contentedly, fulfilled in marriage, career, and motherhood. Whether by tragedy or just the unyielding passage of time, the other members of that first generation of the Justice League would all go next, one after the other. Eventually, his wife too would pass to whatever lay beyond, leaving him in such emotional straits.

He'd realized to his mounting horror that his greatest fear: being left truly alone, the inevitable end that had been prophesied to him a number of times in various ways, seemed to finally be coming to pass. _But not quite. I still had Diana and J'onn. _He'd always had them. And, more recent events had even reunited him with his cousin Kara Zor-El. _Thank Rao for all of them. _And now, Chloe Sullivan and her son, Connor Hawke, his nephew, were unexpectedly back in his life, as well. But, had the damage already been done? Would they even recognize what he had become?

With each loss, Clark Kent seemed to die a little himself, or maybe he was slowly being put to death. Whether as a way of coping with or running from the pain, Clark over time started to abandon his humanity and embrace more and more of his Kryptonian nature. What had been human in him diminished, becoming less and less. Eventually, there would come a point when normal, ordinary, human Clark Kent could not believably continue to live and would have to be laid to rest. As that time approached, there really was very little of Clark Kent left in him. When that day finally came, and Clark Kent officially "died," Superman simply ceased to be anyone else. There really was no reason to be someone other than Kal-El at that point. Even before that, J'onn was always calling him "Kal-El" and Diana "Kal." Two names that he had used before Superman even existed; names that he once loathed because of who he was and what he did under those aliases. It was an irony that he had come to be called by precisely those names by his two closest friends.

As the decades began to pass into centuries, he withdrew more and more into seclusion. Superman would always be at hand to intervene whenever and wherever he was needed. But, on his off-hours, Kal-El spent most of his time at the Fortress of Solitude learning from and training with Jor-El. His initial trials may have been completed some time ago, but the Fortress was a repository of knowledge spanning 28 galaxies. There were always new things to learn, to discover. When he was not in the Arctic, he could also be found on Themyscira, the homeland of Diana Prince. There were things to learn from her, too; in particular, how to overcome his vulnerabilities to magic and supernatural weaponry. In time, however, his interests would turn elsewhere.

Splendid isolation turned out to be not so splendid, and Kal-El had begun to frequently wonder about his origins and whether or not he truly was the Last Son of Krypton? Kara, Raya, Kandor, even General Zod, Brainiac, and Doomsday gave him hope that there did exist others out there from Krypton like him. At first, he wasn't even sure he wanted to know the answer. Encounters with those from the world of his birth didn't always turn out the way he'd hoped or expected. In fact, such encounters usually led to catastrophe. But, the occasional pondering of the matter escalated into obsession. He left the Earth behind and began to explore the far reaches of space. He located and visited what remained of Krypton more than once. Through investigation and analysis he would ascertain the most likely routes taken by other potential survivors and set out on those trajectories. He'd explored planetary systems with red suns, yellow suns, binary star systems, even rogue planets that orbit no star. All in an effort to find more of his own kind. He'd experienced many fantastic things but found no one else really like himself. Finally, he abandoned the search and returned to the only home he ever knew.

By then, the Milky Way galaxy had gotten a whole lot smaller and the Earth a whole lot bigger. The Legion of Super-Heroes had formed, apparently inspired by the legend of a hero from long past: Superman. Despite knowing this future, when it arrived, Kal-El was flattered and amazed. This was the true purpose of Superman, after all. To inspire others to their greatest potential and use it for the good of all, particularly those in need. Now, it seemed, he'd inspired an entire galaxy to take up his legacy. Kal-El watched from afar, intervening secretly, quietly when absolutely necessary, but the Legion proved to be quite competent in their role as galactic guardians. Kal-El had finally achieved far beyond what he'd hoped to so long ago. His presence would hardly be needed, or so he thought.

Until now. With this latest threat, the Legion's triumvirate sought Kal-El out. For the first time since that fateful day in his barn on his parents' farm in Smallville in the year 2009, he would have direct contact with Legion members. The same Legion members, in fact. Rokk Krinn, Imra Ardeen, and Garth Ranzz beckoned him out from the shadows to save a world that again needed him. If only he could put his damned Superman outfit on.

The situation would be laughable if it wasn't so serious. Here his once and future best friend was fighting for both her life and her mind two floors down, and he couldn't even get dressed in his superhero costume. That realization stirred Kal-El back to his present surroundings. Now was not the time to have an identity crisis. This time he took his suit in hand with the intent of wearing it.

As Kal-El inserted one leg and then the other into his skintight, blue trousers, he thought back to when he first laid eyes on the colorful clothing. He'd just awoken from a dream, one that would prove to be prophetic, in which he had prevented a disaster from occurring on the roof of the _Daily Planet _while wearing the very suit he was about to behold. And he was flying; something else Clark then had yet to learn how to do. Kal-El stood from the bed and pulled the remainder of the garment up around his waist. When he'd awoken in the barn loft, he'd found a black box wrapped in black ribbon. The card left with it read simply "If you choose to stay. Love Mom." He opened the box, and inside was this very suit, with the sign of his Kryptonian heritage prominently displayed on top.

Kal-El picked up that same blue shirt from the bed now, with the same Kryptonian symbol resembling a stylized letter 'S' in Western languages on Earth. He slipped one arm through one sleeve followed by the other arm through the other sleeve and his head and neck through the remaining aperture between pulling the shirt over his torso down to his waist. Unlike now, he chose not to wear the gift from his mother in the loft right away. Later, after a climactic series of events including a couple of brushes with death, Clark returned to the loft, ready at last to embrace his destiny and suit up in his hero's uniform. But, Jor-El interfered with that plan. Before he knew it, he and the suit had been transported to the Fortress in the Arctic.

Kal-El pulled the red trunks on next, sliding the bright yellow belt through the red bands and clasping the buckle of the waistband in front. A rather intense confrontation with Jor-El ensued, in which he informed his son of his disappointment in him, of the coming darkness and how it would use him, and how Clark still had a long way to go to become the hero he thought he already was. Kal-El recalled some of the heated words exchanged between them…_You may not see me as a hero, but the rest of the world does! And, _I_ decide my fate!…You will _never_ be Earth's savior!…_Things then abruptly ended pretty much the way they usually did between them. Jor-El shut down and wouldn't respond anymore, and Clark walked out on him—without the suit. For Jor-El had encased it in a slab of solid ice. And, so it would remain for nearly a year.

Kal-El sat down again on the bed's edge and placed his bright red boots on the floor in front of him. He put the right one on first, followed by the left, each time settling his foot comfortably into the base of the boot before stretching the top up over his shin and calf. It was soon after in that state of confusion, fear, doubt, and despair that Clark had met or believed he'd encountered the ghost of his deceased, adoptive, human father on Earth, Jonathan Kent. He again summoned the memory of a key exchange between the two of them…_You could be the greatest hero the world has ever known…Not according to Jor-El…Well, then, do what you do best, prove him wrong!_

Kal-El rose from the bed and took the cape again into his hands. He contemplated the solid yellow insignia of his Kryptonian house again for a moment. Then, he swung the cape around his shoulders, let it fall loosely behind him, and fastened the top of it to the neckline of his shirt at both shoulders. Almost a year later, after Clark had finally conquered the darkness both within and without and defeated Darkseid, he returned once more to his Arctic Fortress where he found himself in the presence of both of his fathers, both dead and somehow both still with him. Jor-El at last expressed pride, humility, gratitude, approval of his son long withheld, and perhaps even a whit of regret. Not to mention a stunning admission about the importance of Smallville in Clark's attainment to true heroism. The block of ice which still contained the suit erupted out of the depths of the Fortress. The living spirit of Jonathan Kent retrieved the suit from its icy prison and placed it not unlike a newborn child in the arms of his son. Fitting, since Superman was "born" in that moment, and an arduous labor it was. Both paternal revenants then vanished leaving him all alone, and it was then that Clark Kent consciously and willfully took flight for the first time. Assuming his spectacular attire while airborne in midflight, "Superman" proceeded to save the day. Rescuing Lois Lane, not to mention the President of the United States and his staff, was up first on his to-do list. Air Force One had been forced down and was in dire need of an immediate course correction when Apokolips neared the Earth far too close for anyone's comfort. Superman provided the lift back on course they needed, and the flight crew was able to restore power and control thanks to the boost Clark gave them. He immediately turned next on Apokolips, ejecting the entire planet away from the Earth into the recesses of deep space from whence it came. He'd done it. He had saved the Earth and everyone in her from certain doom at the hands of the Darkness. He'd become the hero he was supposed to be. The one that Jonathan and Martha and Lois and everyone else who loved him believed he could be. The one that, more than _anyone_ else, _she _knew he would be. Her. Chloe Sullivan. His friend. Somehow the word just didn't do justice to what it was that they were to each other.

Now, here he was, here they were, about to face that same Darkness all over again. _How do you know it is the same darkness? How do you know it won't be worse now? Will you be able to save the world a second time? Does the heart of a hero still beat in this breast? _Kal-El looked down to observe as he solemnly brought his hand to rest simultaneously over his heart and on the S-shield of his shirt, spreading his fingers across the Mark of the House of El. After a moment, he let his hand drop to his side and lifted his head only to see himself unexpectedly in the mirror. Meditating on the image in the glass, he set aside all doubt and confusion and focused on the tasks ahead. He folded his arms in confidence and said to his reflection, "Oh, there you are. Hello, Superman. It's been a long time."


	7. Chapter 7: Regret

**A/N: **Apropos to this chapter's title, I am sorry that I have not updated this story in nearly a month. However, I think this addition will make up for that given its double-size, deluxe length. Also, I want to express my gratitude, in particular, to all who have written reviews and to everyone who keeps coming back to read more. Many thanks. So, without further ado...

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Chapter 7: Regret

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_All I know is that every single meteor freak I've ever run into has ended up either dead or in Belle Reve.  
__Face it, Clark…I'm a walking time bomb. _(Chloe Sullivan)  
_Then, consider me your own personal bomb squad. _(Clark Kent)  
– from _Freak_

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Kal-El half expected finger whistles and applause when he returned to the infirmary all decked out in his red-and-blues. Except that there wasn't much of an audience. The Legionnaires were gone, Kal-El knew not where. Brainiac 5 still worked with unwavering diligence on Chloe, who remained exactly the same as when Kal-El had left. Connor had fallen asleep. Someone had given him a chair to sit in beside Chloe's bed. His head lay over his crossed, stacked forearms on the edge of the platform cushion, his eyes shut. Diana had returned by now, also. She stood there absorbed in the three-person scene.

In changing outfits, Diana too had gone retro in choosing to wear gold-on-red up top with star-spangled blue beneath, the suit accentuating her very comely figure. Completing the ensemble were her red, white-striped boots; her indestructible, silvery bracelets of divine origin; and her gold tiara featuring a single red star. The golden Lasso of Truth hung from her waist and her shoulders were wrapped in her seldom-worn, star-studded, blue cape. Kal-El raised an eyebrow at the full-length mantle and looked at Diana as if expecting an explanation.

"I thought our Legionnaires might find it inspiring to see Wonder Woman in full costume," Diana answered the unspoken question while looking at Chloe still motionless on the bed.

"Well, I don't know about them, but I certainly do," Kal-El said with a smile, "By the way, where is our intrepid trio?"

"J'onn just got back. They went to meet him and bring him down here." Finally, she turned to look at Kal-El and asked, "Where have you been?"

"On another planet," Kal-El absently replied, "What have we got?"

"I believe Brainiac Five has just about completed his examination," Diana informed.

Kal-El stepped up to the foot of the platform and took a long look at Chloe. It had to be just his imagination, but she seemed to look peaceful now, as if even in her wretched state she were aware that she was safe, protected, and being tended to by those who cared for her. It was probably just because he was so glad to have her back. He looked across the way at Brainiac 5 who was still observing Chloe intently.

"Brainy?" Kal-El addressed the mechanical physician.

"I've almost finished, Kal-El," Brainiac 5 flatly responded. He took his eyes away from Chloe and looked up at Kal-El. Initially surprised, he smiled slightly and commented, "It's about time. Even I was growing weary of seeing you in your black or silver suits. You never looked right in monochrome, you know that? And, what took so long? You were keeping everyone in suspense. The Legionnaires were starting to wonder and worry. And, you know how Garth so wanted to see you in your red cape." His tone was almost patronizing in the way he spoke the last sentence.

Realizing for the first time the conspicuous absence of someone important, Kal-El looked about the place and asked, "Where's Kara?"

Brainiac 5 opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a voice coming from the infirmary entrance, "About sixty-four thousand light years from here. Kara Zor-El left to investigate the fall of Darkseid's latest conquest." Kal-El turned around to see Rokk leading Imra and Garth into the room. "But, guess whom we found instead?" Rokk continued as he stepped to one side.

In walked a hulking, mostly green entity that managed to tower over even Kal-El. Standing well over six-and-a-half-feet tall, this new arrival had green skin, bright-red eyes, and a bald head. As for clothing, his own verdant epidermis made up the bulk of his outward appearance since his costume amounted to little more than a pair of boots, trunks, and a cape—all of them blue. In addition to those, a wide, solid-red strap crossed over each shoulder and ran under each arm with the two intersecting just beneath his broad chest. This simple harness that adorned his otherwise bare torso was the only other thing he wore. Two domical, gold clasps—joined by a gold cord—fastened his cape in front just beneath the shoulder on each side to the red strap underneath. The cape itself was full and lengthy, falling past the knees of his exposed legs, and featured a high collar. All together, the Martian Manhunter looked rather like (minus the extra pair of limbs and tusked mouth) something right out of Edgar Rice Burroughs's _Barsoom_ series of novels, which may have been precisely the aim. The trench coat that he had slung over his arm along with the wide-brimmed fedora he held were both dropped onto the empty platform-bed opposite the one where Chloe lay. Then, he assumed a place to Kal-El's left.

As J'onn J'onzz stood at his left and Diana at his right, Kal-El looked over to the three Legionnaires who were observing studiously the three much older superheroes in all their fashionable glory. Apparently, they liked what they saw. All three were smiling broadly, even Rokk, whose facial expressions usually were as hard as his name implied. Garth made eye contact with Kal-El and pointed to his own shoulders with both hands while mouthing the words "nice cape" silently. Kal-El rolled his eyes and hand-waved it off, but in truth, he could forgive the sudden display of fanboyishness. This was, after all, the first time that the three of them saw Superman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter together in their superhero wears. Diana and J'onn for a while now had been wearing some past version of their respective outfits, but as Brainiac 5 pointed out earlier, Kal-El had up to now declined to wear his. Now, here they all were, as they originally appeared all that time ago. Kal-El marveled that each of them had come up with the same idea at the same time. Despite all three of their costume styles having changed frequently over time, they all had independently decided to go with their original, classic look, now. It seemed right, having come full circle in order to start anew.

Brainiac 5 approached the others and commented to the Martian, "J'onn J'onzz. Excellent. Your timing is most punctual." He then turned to them all but addressed only one directly, "I'm ready to make my report, Kal-El."

"Then, I think our youngest party will be interested in what you have to say," J'onn said as he approached the slumbering Connor and placed a massive, green hand on his shoulder. The teenage son of Chloe Sullivan stirred and jerked his head up slightly, slowly opening his eyes. He uncrossed his arms, gave them a stretch, and looked up at the person who awoke him. Normally, one might expect and even forgive a fearful reaction from one waking from a deep sleep to the image of the very alien-looking alien. However, Connor's relations were anything but normal. As the inhuman form of the Martian Manhunter came into focus through his barely open eyelids, Connor merely smiled sleepily up at the great, green Goliath and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "Hey, Uncle John," he said reaching up and wrapping his arm around that of his surrogate uncle, giving it a hug, "I must've dozed off. You just get back?"

"Yes. I am pleased that you and your mother have arrived safely, Connor Hawke," J'onn replied, smiling at his young nephew.

"Speaking of, Brainiac Five was just about to fill us in on what he learned from his examination," Kal-El told the young man. Connor roused instantly and stood to join the rest, listening attentively.

"It is exactly as we feared. Chloe Sullivan is suffering from a severe form of dementia. Specifically, she is definitely catatonic, likely delusional, and probably schizophrenic. She can't communicate, has no awareness of her surroundings, and isn't conscious at all. She moves only slightly and infrequently, her body spending most of its time absolutely rigid in set positions," Brainiac 5 explained, trying to convey a feeling of sympathy.

"Just like her mother, Moira," Kal-El whispered as his eyes drifted back to Chloe, "But, wait. Chloe spoke to us at Belle Reve—she sat up in my arms," Kal-El rebutted.

Brainiac 5 dismissed it explaining further, "Autonomic reactions. And, she didn't have a clue what she was saying. She was probably just repeating the last thing she heard someone say to her or perhaps the last thing that she consciously said herself before…this happened."

"But, she said my name. She called to me. She had to know I was there with her," Kal-El insisted quietly to himself.

"I don't think I shall ever understand why humanoids attribute such significance to words spoken in delirium—or in this case—dementia," Brainiac commented to himself aloud, "Kal-El, she barely registers any brain activity. She had no idea you were with her. She could not possibly recognize your presence. I'm sorry."

"I thought…Chloe was always afraid that her mother's condition was genetic. That she had passed it onto her and that one day she would end up just like Moira Sullivan. But, she never got sick. So, we thought that Moira's illness was unique, brought on by exposure to kryptonite…during the first meteor shower in Smallville," Kal-El explained.

"Well, it was, technically. But, the kryptonite, you see, acted as a catalyst for Moira Sullivan's condition, not the cause, that and the trauma of driving through town trying to avoid being struck by giant rocks falling from the sky while being terrified for the life of her two-year-old daughter. The cause of her condition was definitely in her genes. And, in Chloe's, too, I'm afraid. I've confirmed that. Now, bearing in mind that Chloe was exposed to the same kryptonite at the same time as her mother—" Brainiac 5 expounded.

"You removed all of the kryptonite from Chloe's body while you were inside her. I mean, Brainiac did in the twenty-first century before the Legion freed her," Kal-El interjected.

"But not the effects of the exposure. The damage had already been done. In Chloe's case, this outcome was inevitable from the onset of her illness."

"But, how could it happen so fast? It took Moira Sullivan years to get as bad as she did. This happened to Chloe in less than a day."

"Chloe Sullivan is over forty years old. If her mother is any indication, then by all rights, Chloe should have been this far gone some time ago. And, I don't think her condition developed as recently as you think it did. From what I found, I believe the initial symptoms first appeared years ago, her time."

"No, he's…he's right," Connor corroborated, "A couple years ago, when I was fifteen, Mom started talking about how sometimes she felt like her mind was coming apart at the seams. Like there wasn't much holding it all together. She was so scared sometimes. I was scared. I think Dad knew, too. He spent so much time and money on specialists, research, development of experimental drugs looking for a cure. He visited Grandma a bunch of times, too. I thought he was just trying to help her, but he was really trying to find a way to stop it from happening to Mom, wasn't he?"

"She never told us that," Kal-El said dismayed by the revelation. Turning to Diana he asked of her, "Why wouldn't she tell us about that?"

"Kal, now isn't the time," Diana replied.

"If her situation was as inevitable as you say—if it was only a matter of time—then why now? Why not earlier?" Kal-El questioned.

"I suspect her kryptonite-induced, healing powers had a lot to do with it. And while I do not recall every detail of my past life as Brainiac, it seems in my previous existence, I may have installed a number of countermeasures myself to stave off her condition. At the time, my predecessor had intended to be around a lot longer than the Legion ultimately gave him leave to do, and he would have preferred a fully-functional brain to inhabit and control. But Chloe has been without her healing abilities or Brainiac for twenty years now. Whatever temporary mental stability they may have provided her with eventually it would have failed, and without their continued presence nothing could prevent the deterioration of her brain and mind. Moreover, I believe that something happened back in the twenty-first century, in what is for Chloe the last twenty-four hours, to trigger a high degree of acceleration in the breakdown of her mental state. I'm positive that trigger was—"

"Brainiac…" Diana cautioned. It was not meant as an accusation or a completion of his statement, but a warning to choose his next words carefully.

He sighed glancing at Diana and then over at Connor but took the hint, "Some major traumatic event. With that impact to her psyche, Chloe's condition progressed extremely rapidly—much more so than in her mother—to the point that it ought to have been at already."

Kal-El parted from the others and walked over to the bed with Chloe resting on it. He gently brushed a lock of her hair from her face and stroked her temple with his thumb. He watched, intently absorbed in her. He didn't remove his eyes from her face when he spoke next, "You said 'countermeasures to stave off her condition.'"

"I did."

Kal-El turned and looked at Brainiac 5 as if the two of them plus Chloe were the only ones in the room. He asked, "Can you reverse her condition?"

Brainiac 5 in measured steps came to Kal-El's side as both pair of eyes settled on Chloe. He admitted, "That's a tall order, Kal-El. There's still so much about the human brain that we don't yet know, even in the thirty-first century. It's not as though you're asking me to do something simple like fix a ruptured cerebral aneurysm or restore a lost memory."

"Brainiac Five, you arrogant android. I've never known a challenge that your skill—or your _ego_—couldn't match."

Brainiac 5 narrowed his eyes as he glared at him. He hated whenever Kal-El did that. The unmitigated gall to compare him—one of the most advanced, sophisticated, versatile, sentient, artificial intelligences ever to exist—to a common, robotic automaton. Unable to resist Kal-El's attempt to goad him with an appeal to his pride, Brainiac 5 responded, "I expected this. Mmmm. I _might_ be able to do something for her." As he said that, he expressed a sudden fascination with his fingernails, examining them closely and brushing them on his labcoat.

Kal-El pressed him further, "Give it to us absolutely straight, Brainiac. You can eliminate the genetic defect in Chloe's DNA that makes her susceptible to mental illness _and_ reverse her current condition _and_ heal the damage that her brain has already suffered?"

Still scrutinizing the ends of his fingers, Brainiac 5 began, "In a word…" then looked directly at Kal-El and concluded his statement with, "Yes."

Diana commented, "Well, at least we know his ego is functioning at maximum efficiency."

Kal-El thought briefly then instructed the living machine from Krypton, "Then, I suggest you two get reacquainted real fast. Do it."

"I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, Kal-El, but this call is not yours to make," Brainiac 5 informed, "This procedure is not without risk, and Connor Hawke is Chloe Sullivan's closest living relative."

Connor was suddenly hit with a keen awareness that all eyes in the room (with the exception of his mother's, of course) were on him. He ignored all but Kal-El's waiting expression and stood aghast at the very idea of what he was being asked to consent to, "No way, Uncle Clark! What's the matter with you all? Actually let Brainiac go crawling through my mother's head again?"

Kal-El took Connor aside from the others. He was about to speak, but Connor didn't give him a chance to, "He attacked her. He put her into a coma. No, whatever it was, it was worse than a coma. And he used her like a machine. My mother's not a tool—she's a human being, damn it!"

"Connor, he wants to save her now."

"Oh my God! Did you just get senile over the last thousand years or what? Do I have to remind you of everything it tried to do? First, it helped General Zod destroy Krypton. And not satisfied with wiping out an entire planetary population minus one, it went back in time to try again for a perfect score—to kill you, Uncle Clark! When you were a baby! It trapped your cousin Kara in the Phantom Zone and then manipulated you by impersonating her back here on Earth. Before all that, it almost killed your mother, Martha Kent. It tried to turn you into General Zod, which _my_ mother saved you from. It turned Lex Luthor into General Zod during Dark Thursday, which…really isn't much of a stretch, but it almost destroyed the Earth as we know it doing it. It took over your Fortress of Solitude and released Doomsday, which put Mom and you through all kinds of hell and came closer than anyone to killing you—would've destroyed the entire Earth again if you hadn't stopped it…"

"Are you done? Connor, he—"

"Stop calling it 'he!' That _thing_ is a soulless, genocidal—no, omnicidal—"

"Shhh!" Kal-El could sympathize with him more than anyone, but he'd heard enough of Connor's ranting. He tried to calmly reason with the young man. Kal-El confessed to him, "Look, when I first met Brainiac Five, I had almost exactly the same reaction you're having now. But _he_ helped me. You can't imagine how much he helped me at a time when I really needed it. And if he hadn't, that first battle with Darkseid would've gone a lot differently than it did. I guarantee you wouldn't even be standing here alive, right now. And his name is Brainiac _Five_. And as bad as you think he is, Darkseid is far and away worse than him. So think about that."

"We know you're scared, Connor. We know it. It feels like you're mad at the world. Brainiac Five can save your mother. Do you really think the three of us would let anything happen to her? That we would let him do anything to her that would hurt her? After all that we've done for both of you so far?" J'onn J'onzz offered.

"This is not the being that attacked your mother, Connor. Or did any of the other things you mentioned. And I don't need my empathic abilities to know that Brainiac Five wants to help your mother especially, in any way he can," Diana stated plainly as she placed a hand on Connor's shoulder. "If you can't trust him, trust us. We want your mother well, same as you."

Connor returned to the bed on which Chloe lay and looked at her for several long moments. Then he looked across the raised platform at Brainiac 5. He didn't move or say anything to Connor. He just waited. As Connor looked, he could've sworn he saw something in his glassy, gray eyes that was quite impossible. Regret. Machines can't feel regret. They can't feel anything. He had to be mistaken. According to everyone, this was his mother's only chance. And yet, how could he live with himself if they were all wrong? How could he face his father when he got back to his own time? Explain to him what he'd allowed to happen?

Brainiac 5 spoke up in a clear, even tone that betrayed nothing of what was going on inside the inner workings of his artificial intelligence, "Shall I proceed?"

Connor nodded very slightly and ordered, "Do it."

Brainiac 5 moved without delay to a position at the head of the platform. He placed both his hands on the console at the platform's terminus and said to the unconscious Chloe Sullivan, "'ello, Luv. Remember me? Now, don't you worry about a thing. This isn't going to hurt one bit." A mass of silvery tendrils emerged from the knuckles of both hands as he drummed his fingers. Some inserted themselves into the console which activated and began rapidly displaying images as well as data in Kryptonian characters. But, most of the tendrils inserted themselves directly into Chloe's head. Connor turned away from the sight and began to breathe heavily through his mouth. It looked to Kal-El like Connor was about to be sick. He could also hear his nephew's heart rate increase quite a bit.

"Imra, why don't you and the others get Connor set up in his room. Give him a tour of Headquarters while you're at it. Don't worry, Connor," Kal-El reassured the distressed youth. Then, he indicated himself, Diana, and J'onn, "One of us will stay here at all times. We promise."

Imra walked up to Connor's side and slipped her arm underneath his. As Connor turned to look at her, she smiled at him and said, "You look tired, Connor. Come on. I'll show you to your room." She then pulled him away towards the door. Garth and Rokk followed a number of steps behind them out of the infirmary.

Kal-El watched the four youths leave and then looked back to Chloe with Brainiac 5 plugged into her head. It was strange beyond words to see the two of them like this, especially when he recalled what had happened the last time he saw the two of them together.

He didn't turn to face him as he remarked to J'onn J'onzz standing silently beside him, "Thanks for returning the rental car. I owe you a package of Oreo's."

The Martian Manhunter also did not take his gaze off of Chloe and Brainiac, responding with, "Just one?"

Kal-El smiled and asked, "Did you have any trouble?"

J'onn answered, "No. It was right where you left it behind the Queens' apartment building. Keys were under the driver's seat. The man working the desk had no idea you weren't you…I mean, that I was me…I mean…he thought he was talking to Clark Kent."

"I'm sure your impersonation of me was impeccable, my shape-shifting friend," Kal-El said.

"He seemed quite disappointed that your lovely, female companion failed to make a return appearance with you, though," J'onn added.

"I'll bet he was. What did you do with the Corvette?"

"Put it right back where you got it from. I left everything in place exactly how 'we' will or did find things with the rest of the Justice League back in the twenty-first century."

"It's strange to be here, now. To finally know what all that was about. I mean, what really happened a thousand years ago."

"And to know that we were the ones responsible for it? And why? I don't think any of us would have believed it had we known then."

"Speaking of what we didn't know then," Kal-El paused as if to steel himself against what he was about to broach, "Did you learn anything more? About that night…that Oliver…"

"Perhaps. I think she may be able to enlighten us about a few things, too," J'onn said indicating Chloe with a nod of the head in her direction.

"I still can't believe you actually wanted to do it. I mean, to stand there…watch it happen…"

"It had to be done. His death _had_ to be witnessed. Someone had to honor his sacrifice."

"Honor his sacrifice?" Kal-El repeated in disbelief, "His sacrifice shouldn't have been necessary."

"This may come as a surprise to you, Kal-El, but it does not sit well with me, not intervening in this case."

"And yet, you still did nothing."

"Correct. There is a reason why the Legion Code forbids actively changing history or engaging in reckless behavior that would substantially affect the past. We have no right to play God with time. And you have no idea what the unintended consequences of intervention would have been."

"With all due respect, neither do you. There may not have been any. It isn't playing God to save a friend's life."

"You have done your fair share of time travelling both with and without the Legion. And every time you altered the past such action came at a heavy price. Do you not remember when the Legion did it themselves that very first time after Chloe Sullivan's disastrous wedding to Henry James Olsen? The unintended consequences to you, to her, to Jimmy, even to Davis Bloome were staggering!"

"I don't need to be reminded of what Doomsday did to us!"

"Perhaps you do, Kal-El, along with the fact that there is a very real likelihood that none of it would have happened if the Persuader hadn't acted to alter history. Oliver died. Chloe and Connor disappeared. That is what happened then, and that is exactly what we made sure happened now. To do anything more would have been reckless in the extreme. I thought by now, you'd have learned to put greater faith in destiny."

"So, some things are just fated to happen?"

"All I know for certain is that the future is in our hands and the past is out of them."

"How rhetorical. 'You had no choice.' Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day, you'll even believe it. But after a thousand years, probably not."

"If you're implying that I don't care that Oliver had to die—"

"For the record, I'm not _implying_ anything," it was a challenge that Kal-El had issued and perhaps even an accusation.

"If you are so keen on changing the past to help your friends, _Kal-El,_ then why didn't you use your Legion Ring to save Jimmy Olsen's life WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE?"

"IF I HAD—"

"Ahem," Diana interrupted. The two extraterrestrial beings turned toward the Amazonian princess. "You two boys want to take it outside before it comes to blows? I doubt the infirmary could withstand a scuffle between Superman and the Martian Manhunter," she pointed out.

"We're just having a quiet discussion," Kal-El downplayed the escalating argument.

"Well, the testosterone is coming through loud and clear. Or whatever the equivalent is in both your species. Stand down, both of you," Diana adjured them.

Kal-El glared at both J'onn and Diana before returning to the bed with Chloe on it. He asked tentatively of Brainiac 5, "Can I...?"

"Yes. Just don't move her head," Brainiac 5 cautioned.

Kal-El once again took her hand in his. Brainiac 5 could easily tell he was distressed. Perhaps the pressure was finally getting to the Man of Steel. What he couldn't tell, however, was that Kal-El had observed a few things about him, too.

"Brainy, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you were acting like someone distracted."

"Both of your…conversations…with Connor and with J'onn caused certain things to resurface. You are not the only one who has strong memories of the past, Kal-El, and equally strong regrets regarding them."

"You? No offense, but a machine? Regrets?"

"After all this time, how little you still understand me, Kal-El. It is true that I do not feel remorse for the past since, as you are aware, machines are incapable of emotion. But, I can and do regret because regret is neither a feeling nor an emotion. It is an act of the will. And I deplore my past actions and inaction. As do you—in many more matters than solely the death of Oliver Queen."

"You obviously know me better than I know you."

"Yes, I do."

Watching Chloe now wasn't helping Kal-El deal with those regrets. And unlike Brainiac 5, he did have to deal with feelings like remorse and sorrow and emotional pain and anger on top of "acts of the will" like regret. Particularly now.

"I need to get some air," Kal-El quickly remarked as he headed out to the other side of the infirmary.

"It seems tempers are flaring a bit all around. Is it just me or is Kal-El a lot more emotional since getting back?" J'onn asked, observant as ever.

"It isn't you, J'onn," Diana replied. As she watched him go, Diana considered leaving him be for the moment. She soon thought the better of it, though, and followed him outside. Traversing the main area of the infirmary, she passed the last few compartments and left through the exterior entrance.

Diana felt the cool, night air against her skin as she exited the outer walls of the tower onto the massive deck directly adjacent to the hospital. Several such decks adjoined the main structure of the citadel at various levels and points of its exterior. This one served as a staging area for Legionnaires returning from the field to transport casualties, en masse when necessary, quickly and directly to the infirmary. Its flat, circular surface was large enough to receive at once several airborne, emergency and/or medical, transport vehicles themselves capable of carrying dozens of people in need of medical attention. Kal-El had moved to the median of the platform and stood near its edge looking out at the bright lights of Metropolis. Diana said not a word as she walked up to his side and also began taking in the busy, city skyline.

It was unusually quiet even for this far up above the hustle and bustle of the city streets. She could feel very strongly the frustration and tension emanating off of him. If she were to interpret what she was reading from him with her empathic abilities, Diana would say that Kal-El wanted to utterly destroy something. Just smash anything into nonexistence and the bigger the thing the better. It came as something of a surprise. She'd thought that by now, having rescued both Connor and Chloe and with Brainiac 5 on his way to making her well, that he'd be more relaxed. Diana concluded that he simply couldn't relax, at least not until Chloe was well, and that that was another reason he came out here. Out here there was nothing and no one to throw, hurt, crush, maim, or in any other way do general damage to. It was prudent probably. What she couldn't understand was why? He shouldn't be feeling like this. He shouldn't be feeling much of anything, at all. Someone needed to break the quiet between them, and she decided it might as well be her.

"If you need to get some air, why not go flying over the city for a while? It might even help to calm you down. Or, if you really must destroy something, why don't you try the Kitchen?"

Nothing. His only response was silence.

Diana refused to give up that easily. She asked, "Have you given any thought to what you're going to tell Chloe when she wakes up?" It might not have been the best time to introduce such a delicate subject for discussion, but they needed to address the issue soon.

"No…I mean, it depends on what she remembers."

"And Connor? What are you going to tell him?"

"Diana..." Kal-El turned from her and began walking away.

She quickly turned and called after him, "Would you rather she wakes up and you say the wrong thing to them?"

Kal-El stopped and shook his head. Then, he lamely responded, "I'll think of something."

Diana approached him again and commented, "You know, it's been a long time since I've seen you this indecisive. Ever since you saw her again in Belle Reve..." Diana had given him the opportunity to explain himself, but Kal-El chose not to volunteer anything. So, she put the question to him directly, "You want to tell me what happened back there?"

"Look, it's been a very long time since we've seen Chloe. And, to see her for the first time again…like that…I guess it just hit me harder than I expected it to. No big deal."

"No, I didn't mean the little incident in the cell with the door. I'm talking about what happened afterwards…outside? You were crying."

"I wasn't crying. I shed one tear. I hardly call that—"

"You don't cry anymore, Kal. Not since you went full Kryptonian centuries ago."

"So, I showed a little emotion. So what? It's not like I—"

"You don't show emotion anymore, Kal! You are as rationalistic and unemotional as Brainiac or J'onn J'onzz or Jor-El or any of your other Kryptonian relatives. Cold Steel—that's what you're the Man of now. And speaking of J'onn…"

"I know. I'm sorry for what happened a little while ago in the infirmary. I guess he just hit a raw nerve."

"I'm not the one to apologize to, Kal." Another moment of silence followed. "You're questioning the wisdom of not having rescued Oliver, aren't you?"

"You're not? We could've saved him, Diana." Kal-El added disdainfully, "Oliver deserved better than being shot like a dog and dying in the street."

"Oliver Queen knew better than any of us the consequences of assuming the persona of the Green Arrow. You, J'onn, myself, we go on. There is little that can truly hurt us, even less that can kill us. We are virtually immortal. Oliver Queen was not. He knew the meaning of sacrifice. He knew the demands of being a hero. He faced death every time he put on that uniform. And, he still chose to do it. Before Superman or Wonder Woman or Martian Manhunter even existed in this world, he chose to be Green Arrow. No one forced him to. It was always his choice. Just as it was his choice to save Chloe's life at the cost of his own. And that, Kal-El, is why he probably is a greater hero than any of us. I think that Oliver would want us to concentrate on saving the world rather than second-guessing what we've already done."

Diana paused in order to give Kal-El a chance to share his thoughts, but again, he said nothing. She slowly took a breath and turned her head away from him, focusing on the most distant light on the horizon she could find. "You know, Kal, we all had to deal with Oliver's death a long time ago—and not just his. We mourned the passing of most of the Justice League and many more comrades over the centuries. And while I've learned not to underestimate your capacity for guilt over being unable to prevent suffering and death, I fail to see why you'd have greater difficulty getting over his dying than you would any of theirs. Pardon my skepticism if I don't believe that Oliver Queen meant more to you than say Bruce or Bart or…Lois. Is this really about Oliver, or is this about Chloe?" She turned her head back to him and waited for him to respond.

Kal-El folded his arms and hung his head in shame. He said quietly, "Twice, Diana. Twice she had to watch her husband die violently in her arms, and both times I did nothing to change it. And, it was Oliver's death that did this to her. Brainy didn't have to say it. You know it. I know it."

"A lot of things did this to her, Kal. Brainiac Five also clearly said that this started happening to Chloe long before Oliver was killed and that this was going to happen to her one way or another. There is nothing that we could've done for either of them, then."

"You sound exactly like J'onn. I'm not convinced of that. You were the one that said we shouldn't try—that you can't cheat fate."

"And, I believe that. I do believe in Fate—in Destiny. I believe it plays an important part in our lives. But, if knowing you for a thousand years has taught me anything, it's that Fate is not as rigid as you might think. But, you cannot cheat it. One has to learn to find a way to creatively play according to the rules. Exploit the cosmic loopholes. Fate is negotiable on many things, and the path of Destiny is not a straight line. It's a dance."

"I don't dance very well. Never did."

Placing her hand to the side of his face, she looked directly at him and said simply, "Learn." Then, her hand dropped away, and Diana headed off back in the direction of the infirmary.

Kal-El watched her go for a moment. Then, he returned to the platform's edge as his eyes went back to scanning the night sky illuminated by the stars and moon above and the lights of Metropolis below.

Twenty minutes later, Kal-El was back in the infirmary. J'onn was still there. He wasn't sure which would be easier, this or if he had been gone. Kal-El took a deep breath and returned to the side of the Manhunter. Then, he expressed his regret, "I'm sorry, J'onn. I was out of line before and I apologize."

J'onn said nothing at first, then, "Apology accepted. I suppose this business is affecting us all much more than we anticipated. Even Brainiac Five over there."

"I never got a chance to thank you. The mission would not have been a success without you."

"I think you overestimate my contribution."

"I don't agree. You were the one who nailed down the timeline for that critical, twenty-four-hour time-period. You were the one who determined our window of opportunity to get Chloe and Connor out alive without changing history. Hell, you were the one who really believed that the three of us time-travelled back there in the first place when Diana and I still needed convincing."

"I thank you, Kal-El."

"Besides, I don't know what you saw or did, but I have a hunch Chloe owes her life to the fact that you were there when Oliver died."

J'onn confirmed Kal-El's intuition, "It is true that after the assassins shot Oliver Queen, it did appear that they would finish him and Chloe Sullivan. I intended to intervene by reaching into their minds and erasing the memories of why they were there and what they had just done—for the sake of the preservation of history as well as for her sake."

"Jedi mind trick? Nice."

"What is a Jedi?"

"Forget it. Thank you for saving her life. Real good work there."

"Not mine, though."

"Beg pardon?"

J'onn clarified, "As much as I would like to take credit for saving Chloe Sullivan's life, it was not I who did it. I tried to manipulate the minds of the killers, but they were protected somehow. I could not penetrate whatever was guarding their minds."

"What are you saying? That they just decided to pick up and leave without finishing the job?"

"As odd as it sounds, that is correct."

"Any theories as to why?"

"None. But, I suppose it is possible that Oliver Queen wasn't the intended target."

Kal-El was baffled, "That makes even less sense. If Chloe was the target than why let her live only to come after her again twelve hours later? If Oliver was the target why come after Chloe and Connor? A person suffering from mental collapse doesn't make a good witness, and if they were afraid she could identify them why not kill her then? Why kill Connor at all? It just doesn't add up. Nobody even knew the Queens would be in Metropolis that night. No, scratch that. Someone did know, and that someone also knew Superman wouldn't be there to help this time."

"As I said. I am hoping that she will be able to tell us more when she awakens."

"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. We're talking about events that happened almost a thousand years ago, now."

"It may yet matter, Kal-El. Even though I could not penetrate them, when I touched their minds, I sensed something. Something very powerful and very alien. More alien to this entire universe than the two of us are to Earth. Something that has no business even existing in our universe."

"Stop it, J'onn. You're scaring me," Kal-El answered expressing not fear but derision.

"I'm only saying."

.

.

"Kal?"

"Mm?"

"You're pacing."

"Mm."

"Kal?"

"_What?_"

"You're distracting Brainiac."

"Au contraire, ma princesse. I assure you I am able to render more attention than is adequate to the performance of my task."

"Just go back to what you were doing," Diana directed him.

Without warning, another Brainiac Five identical in every respect to the one surgically operating on Chloe emerged from what appeared to be a viscous, shiny, black liquid that no one had noticed was pooling at their feet. While the original continued to work on Chloe, the free Brainiac Five inquired, "Is this better?"

The sudden, unexpected appearance of a second Brainaic 5 in their midst startled all three superheroic onlookers. "Must you do that?" Diana questioned clearly irked.

"What? Now I am free to converse with you while...I...am working uninterrupted on Ms. Sullivan," Brainiac 5's derivate related. Meeting with only silence, he disappointedly added, "Not very talkative, are we? It's just as well. I'm almost done here, anyway."

That was a relief for Kal-El to hear. The last nine hours had been grueling. Waiting, unable to do anything, uncertain of whether or not Brainaic 5 could make good on his claim to be able to heal Chloe. She may not be feeling any pain according to Brainiac 5, but seeing her "plugged in" the way she was made his own head hurt like hell. Not to mention angry as. Diana was right; it had been a very long time since he'd had difficulty keeping his emotions in check. For that matter, it had been a very long time since he needed to. Nonetheless, he was fairly confident that it was a temporary situation. Once Chloe was awake and recovered, she would be fine and so would he. If not, well, he'll deal with that if and when it happened.

"There. That should do it." The free-standing copy of Brainiac 5 made the comment, not the original. The original hadn't made a movement or a sound until his clone had announced the completion of the procedure. That being done, Brainiac 5's tendrils began withdrawing from his patient's caput and receding into his hands.

"We need to let Connor know," Diana said.

"Already done. Rokk and the others are on their way down as we speak. Well, you won't be needing me anymore. Au revoir, arrivederci," the duplicate of Brainiac 5 cheerfully farewelled, a bit too pleased with himself (or themselves). Promptly, he began to disintegrate into another pool of black liquid which then ran like a stream back toward the original. As the offshoot Brainiac 5 reintegrated with its progenitor, the last of his tendrils withdrew from the console, deactivating it, and fully disappeared back into the appendages they issued from. He stepped from the head of the platform-bed to its side and stated to the others, "She should awaken momentarily."

Kal-El stepped up to the foot of the bed positioning himself in the direct line-of-sight of Chloe's resting head. It'd probably be selfish it weren't a subconscious desire, but he wanted to be the first person she saw when she opened her eyes. He didn't even blink as he anxiously watched those closed eyes. His heart nearly skipped a beat when he observed clearly her eyes moving underneath their closed lids. He could feel his lips curling upward into a broad smile as those eyelids began fluttering ever so slightly. Then, suddenly, all movement in both her eyes stopped, and her whole body seemed to slump heavily and flatly into the bed cushion. The consoles at the bed's ends spontaneously came alive once more and began to sound off a series of beeps and other tones while the tactile, glass screens of same began to rapidly display lines of code in bright-red characters and digits—many of which were flashing. Whatever was happening, it couldn't be good. Nevertheless, Kal-El held off on jumping to full alert, that is until his eyes darted over to Brainaic 5 just in time to see his proud—even smug—face adopt an expression of serious concern.

"What's happening?" Kal-El asked anxiously.

"Something's wrong," Brainiac 5 replied as he resumed his former position at the platform's terminus and quickly scanned the output displayed on the console. In response, he began furiously tapping the control displays, at times sliding his fingers in various directions across the smooth, flat surface.

"We gathered that. _What_ is wrong?" Diana asked, her voice also betraying anxiety.

"Chloe Sullivan's vital signs are dropping. Her pulse, blood pressure, respiration are all plummeting. Her brain activity is spiking while simultaneously dropping to dangerously low levels."

"Well, stop it! Help her!"

"I'm attempting to do precisely that, Kal-El."

"Plug back into her. Try to manipulate her bodily systems directly," Kal-El suggested.

"I can't. If I do so now, the shock could send her into cardiac arrest, if not cause her to sustain permanent, irreparable, brain damage." His hands abandoned the control console and braced the sides of Chloe's head, again emitting a soft, yellow glow, only with much more intense light than before. Occasionally, he glanced down at the output being displayed by the console. Not even a minute had transpired when the mad beeps and tones and rapidly changing displays all died down until the platform mechanism emitted no sound at all and only a single line of code remained—the last grouping of Kryptonian icons flashing at regular intervals. Slowly, as if unsure, Brainiac 5 removed his darkened hands from Chloe's head and took a step back from the bed. Chloe lay absolutely still.

After an excruciating moment of complete silence, Kal-El, stunned and terrified, spoke, "Is she…?"

"No," Brainiac 5 answered, "Chloe is alive and I've managed to stabilize her condition, but…" He paused before continuing, "I am sorry, Kal-El. I was unable to prevent it. These readings confirm that she's in a coma."

Kal-El stared through the mask of distress and desperation his own face had become to see Chloe's still, almost lifeless face. "No…No! Chloe!" Kal-El agonizingly called to her as he gripped her shoulders and shook her roughly.

"Kal-El, don't!" J'onn admonished as he took a long step toward the bed with his hand outstretched to him.

He released her and fell to his knees. Trembling, he clenched Chloe's hand in his own. If he hadn't caught himself, he might have crushed every bone from her fingers' end to her wrist. As his forehead dropped down to her forearm and rested there, unmoving, Kal-El continued to call after her in vain, "Chloe! Chloe…"

At that moment, the gentle patter of rain beginning to fall against the exterior surface of the citadel could be heard. The sound began to build from intermittent rapping until it soon became the sound of a relentless, torrential downpour. A lone roll of thunder, too, could be heard as it rumbled low and long in the distance.

.

.

"You were supposed to make her well again, not put her into a coma!"

"You asked me, Kal-El, if I could 'eliminate the genetic defect in Chloe's DNA that makes her susceptible to mental illness and reverse her current condition and heal the damage that her brain has already suffered,'" Brainiac 5 recounted verbatim with annoying accuracy, "I've done precisely that. Her brain is perfect. There isn't a trace of mental illness left in her. And, her DNA has been cleansed of the abnormality that caused it."

"Then what went wrong? Why is she like this!"

"I don't know. I've scanned and probed her hundreds of times, and I can find no cause for her condition. The procedure was flawless. I can't even begin to speculate as to why or how this happened. All I can say with certainty is that, as far as I can tell, Chloe Sullivan should _not_ be comatose."

Kal-El was not satisfied with this explanation or, more accurately, the lack of one.

Brainiac 5 enigmatically said next, "And, that may be a good thing."

"How's that?" Kal-El asked nonplussed.

"If there is no underlying cause, it could be the situation will resolve itself. Perhaps all we need do for Chloe is wait."

Once again, Kal-El was not satisfied, but there wasn't much else anyone could do, at least, right now. So, they waited. What followed was 72 more hours of agonizing waiting, monitoring, hoping Chloe's condition would improve. The rain hardly let up in all that time. Connor hadn't taken it well, at all. When he arrived at the infirmary with Rokk, Imra, and Garth, he was happy and relieved, expecting to see his mother awake and healthy. When he saw her still lying motionless and unconscious and was informed that his mother was now comatose, he'd all but accused Brainiac 5 of attempted murder and Kal-El, Diana, and J'onn of practically being his accomplices since they were the ones who had convinced him to let Brainiac try in the first place. He'd been devastated, nearly breaking down in tears right there. Neither Connor nor Kal-El left Chloe's side over the past three days except to eat or sleep, neither of which either did much of. Both men, keeping their vigil over her unbroken, stood opposite each other at Chloe's bedside. Neither had said much to each other or anyone else since Chloe failed to recover. The only sounds in the room were that of the rapping of the ongoing rain outside and the occasional rumble of thunder.

"Why don't you do something?"

Kal-El lifted his eyes from Chloe's face to see Connor across from him staring not at his mother, but at him with a hard, condemnatory look. He wondered how long his surrogate nephew had been watching him in such a damning way. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"I said 'why don't you do something?'" Connor's tone was dark, harsh, and unforgiving.

Kal-El began to realize that the reality of Connor's situation was truly sinking in. He was in a new century, a new millennium, and a Metropolis that had changed so much he knew barely anything about it; and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. The only people he knew were Kal-El, Diana, and J'onn. But, they were native to this time; they really weren't _his_ Uncle Clark, Aunt Diana, and Uncle J'onn, not really. The only real contact with familiarity and certainty that he had left lay with his mother, and certainty was the last thing that she could be regarded with at this point.

"What would you like me to do, Connor?" Kal-El inquired calmly. He was deeply sympathetic, but he wasn't a god. He couldn't work miracles. Judging from his next comment, Connor apparently thought his uncle could do precisely that.

"I don't know! You're Superman! You're supposed to save people. Well, Mom needs saving! So, dammit…save her!"

The pleas in his voice and the look on his face were just about all his Uncle Clark could take. Connor was right. He needed to do something. As if to punctuate the young man's previous imperative as well as Kal-El's own thoughts, a thunderclap pealed forth seemingly directly above Legion Headquarters. A sign from above. Maybe, just maybe, if the Almighty were in a merciful mood, Kal-El could work a miracle.

Picking himself up out of the slouching posture he'd been in, Kal-El stood up to his full height and resolutely stepped around to the head of the platform-bed. He began tapping the control panel when Brainiac 5 returned to check on his patient.

Surprised, he asked of the Kryptonian, "Kal-El, what are you doing?"

"Something," he replied tersely. The console at the platform's terminus went dead and Kal-El stepped back around to the side of the bed.

Brainiac 5 approached and tried to reason with him, "All right, I know that the situation must seem rather desperate now, but whatever you have planned, it is probably not the best course of action to take just yet."

Kal-El's head shot up to look Brainiac 5 in the face and he asked in a dead-serious tone, "Can you stand there and tell me that Chloe's going to be fine? That one day she'll just wake up? How long will that take? Weeks? Months? Years? Never? We've been waiting three days with no change. Tell me her life isn't in mortal danger every minute she remains in that coma!"

Brainiac 5 just stood there and stared at him silently.

"That's what I thought. We've waited long enough." Once again, Kal-El bent down over Chloe and slipped his arms underneath her legs and back and lifted her up to him. He was gone in an instant, super-speeding out of the infirmary with Chloe in his arms.

"Where's he taking her?" Connor asked concerned.

"The Arsenal," Brainiac 5 replied flatly.

Even more confused, Connor questioned, "What's there?"

"An unorthodox, desperate, and very perilous remedy," Brainiac 5 cryptically answered.

"Will it work?" Connor asked with both hope and apprehension.

"It might," Brainiac 5 put succinctly. He then super-sped after Kal-El and Chloe, leaving Connor alone and in a perplexed state in the infirmary.

Brainiac 5 came upon Kal-El holding Chloe securely in one arm partially over his shoulder and rummaging through a section of the Legion's armory with his other, free hand. They stood in a well-lit alcove resembling a walk-in closet. Sitting on shelves in row after row all along the walls were many dozens of glowing, green rocks, each differing significantly in mass, volume, shape, etc. These extensive samples of kryptonite were stored at Legion Headquarters both for research purposes and for use as weapons against Kryptonians. Not only the unfriendly sort from Kal-El's homeworld that the Legion unexpectedly came across from time to time, but even against the likes of Kara Zor-El or Kal-El themselves should they, for whatever reason, become a threat to the Legion or those they protected. Kal-El wasn't showing any signs of weakness or discomfort or pain, but Brainaic observed that the first beads of perspiration had already begun to appear on his forehead.

"Kal-El, I do not believe this is wise."

"You'll forgive me if I choose not to heed your judgment, as it's become unreliable of late."

"It's been only three days. I may yet find a way to help her. One that doesn't involve resorting to this."

Kal-El ignored him and continued shifting rock samples around until his eyes settled on one particularly promising, glowing, green meteorite about the size of his clenched fist. He picked it up off the shelf and examined it closely. He then took a few seconds to weigh it in hand before presenting it at eye-level to Brainaic 5.

"Will this work?" Kal-El asked. When he didn't respond right away, Kal-El insisted, "WELL, WILL IT?"

Brainiac 5 sighed and surveyed the rock sample, subjecting it to all the data collection the living machine could accomplish by visual inspection. After his analysis was complete, he reluctantly verified the results, "Theoretically yes, but you know that the effects of kryptonite are highly unpredictable. Do you _really_ want to subject her to this given the precarious state of her current physical condition?"

Kal-El shifted Chloe back into both his arms and proceeded to the exit without answering. He got only a few feet before he was intercepted by the super-speeding Brainiac 5.

"Get out of my way, Brainiac," Kal-El warned him gravely.

Brainiac 5 entreated him, "Kal-El, listen to me. Chloe Sullivan has been exposed to kryptonite with extraordinary results twice in her life already. There is no way of knowing what a third exposure could do to her—" Kal-El simply sidestepped him and once again made his way toward the exit with both Chloe and green meteor rock in hand. "YOU COULD KILL HER, KAL-EL!" Brainiac 5 shouted still facing away from him. He turned to see that Kal-El had stopped and stood there with his back to him. Brainiac 5 waited, staring at the bright-red cape unfurled before him adorned with the emblem of the House of El in bright-yellow.

Still with his back to him, Kal-El said to Brainiac 5, "Superman's first rule is 'Don't ever kill.'" He then turned his head to look back over his shoulder and asked, "You want to know what his second rule is?" He didn't wait for an answer; he turned around fully to face Brainiac 5 and stated very clearly, "'Chloe Sullivan doesn't die.' Hear me?" Kal-El then turned right around again and carried Chloe at super speed to the Headquarters' nearest exit.

After a moment of silent reflection, Brainiac 5 mused, "I knew there was a logical reason why I took that woman as my host all those years ago."

Kal-El stepped outside the citadel and into the pouring rain. He glanced down at Chloe's face and then looked straight up to his intended destination. He lifted his clenched fist over his head extending his arm fully and launched himself skyward. Falling rain soaked into his uniform and Chloe's hospital clothing as they both rose swiftly to the highest point of the tower. Seconds later, Kal-El and Chloe were hovering parallel with the citadel's tallest spire.

He gripped the kryptonite firmly in hand as he told her, "You're going to be fine, Chloe. You're going to be better than fine. In fact, you're going to feel better than you ever have in your whole life. So, don't worry about a thing." He pressed the kryptonite rock into her palm and enclosed her hand tightly around it. He then took her arm and firmly braced it against her. Kal-El lifted his leg to seat Chloe gently atop his raised thigh and he reclined her back into the fold of his arm resting the back of her head securely in his large, widespread hand. Holding Chloe steady in the position he set her in, Kal-El drifted closer to the citadel's apex. Planting the foot of his unencumbered leg firmly against it, he at the same time grasped the spire with his free hand enclosing the cold metal within his lengthy fingers. Then, he waited.

The interminable seconds passed as he waited. What seemed like an eternity passed and he waited, patiently. A lightning bolt flashed past them in glaringly bright show near enough for Kal-El to feel the heat of it. _That one was close. Almost. The next one will be closer. Wait for it. _He looked down at the base of the citadel, but it along with the ground was obscured by darkness. He looked at the clouds around intermittently illuminated by the occasional burst of lightning. His gaze drifted back down and was drawn to the entrancing glow of the kryptonite that Chloe clutched to her breast. It seemed to glow increasingly brighter, as though it was alive and was gathering all of its otherworldly power-inducing ability, readying itself to fire the instant the moment came. Could the storm-infused atmosphere actually be charging somehow this rock that shared its origin with Kal-El? Or was it only a trick of the darkness—that it only seemed to be glowing ever brighter in the night, in the shadows that both the tower and Kal-El himself cast over it, and in the enclosure of Chloe's hand? Whatever the reason, Kal-El chose to take it as a good omen. The light danced across Chloe's face as it did Kal-El's. Illumined by the gleam of the shimmering space rock, she seemed so beautiful.

Kal-El leaned in further toward Chloe, drawing her more tightly to his expansive chest. The locks of his rain-soaked hair could absorb no more, and so they gave up their moisture sprung from the sky. The water made its journey across his face, mingling with and taking the sweat from his brow, streaming over his cheeks, sliding down his nose, running down over his lips to his chin, and finally falling in tiny droplets onto Chloe's own face wet with rain. As they did, her face shone with the newly deposited water droplets further refracting and playing with the light. _Great Rao, could she look any more beautiful? _Even her drenched hair haphazardly clinging to her face and neck couldn't diminish her allure. If anything, it served only to enhance it in Kal-El's estimation. His face was now directly above hers and so close that Kal-El effectively shielded Chloe from the harsh rain.

Kal-El's heart pounded away in his chest, and the thundering of that mighty pump easily rivaled the rumblings of the storm above. Perhaps being exposed to the kryptonite this close for this long was more taxing than he'd anticipated it would be. Perhaps he'd finally run clean out of patience in waiting for the storm to deliver what he needed—what Chloe needed. Perhaps…Chloe. Even as he thought her name to himself, his heartbeat increased in force and speed. As his face subconsciously continued drifting closer to hers, their noses barely brushed against one another, and his heart did it again. Accompanying that, he felt the sensation of his hairs beginning to stand on end. _Great Rao_ was all he could think. Then, a single rational thought found a way to break through to his consciousness. _It's coming. _It? Wait. His hairs standing up—that's from lightning! _That's_ what was coming. The next one was going to… Kal-El opened his eyes fully to view Chloe's face not two inches from his own. What he did next caused the pounding of his heart to become deafening in his head, drowning out all other sound. With a voice barely registering above a whisper, Kal-El told her, "Good luck, Chloe." Then, shutting his eyes again, he impulsively closed the final distance between them. Clark pressed his lips to Chloe's firm and hard with urgency and need.

In that exact moment, lightning struck—twice. Once in a massive electrostatic discharge between sky and spire, and again in the electric kiss between Clark Kent and Chloe Sullivan.


	8. Chapter 8: Communion

Chapter 8: Communion

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_Clark! Clark…I knew it was you—it's always you!_ – Chloe Sullivan; from _Obscura_

.

Kal-El was falling. Not in love, mind you. He was physically falling. So was Chloe. Fast. He'd felt it the second the lightning hit. A power drain followed by his body suddenly becoming very heavy. Aware that he'd been relieved (he hoped only temporarily) of his power of flight, he'd clung more tightly to the spire. But, it was wet from the rain, and his hand and foot slipped. That sudden movement caused Chloe to begin to pitch away from him. So, he grabbed hold of her, sending them both tumbling off of the top of the Legion tower.

As the air began whipping by them all around, Kal-El pulled Chloe close and maneuvered his body so it was directly underneath hers. Then, he angled their freefall so as to aim for the landing deck just outside the infirmary. They might as well get as close as they could. Whatever happened now, both of them were going back to the hospital. The only question was what condition would they both be in when they did?

It occurred to him that maybe he hadn't thought this part of the plan through well enough. He quickly assessed his and Chloe's current situation and instantly came up with three possibilities to explain it: (1) The lightning in conjunction with the kryptonite had fully transferred all of his powers out of him and into Chloe, rendering him powerless; (2) The lightning and/or the kryptonite had failed to transfer anything and had succeeded only to cause in him a total power failure; or (3) The lightning and kryptonite had only partially transferred or "leeched" his powers over to Chloe (which is what he had intended to happen all along) and that they merely had to recharge or reset in him after the siphoning off. He quickly realized that, in a few seconds at most, two out of those three scenarios would end very badly for him. Not good odds. It didn't matter. Kal-El was determined to break Chloe's fall. He just hoped the fall would not break him. The landing platform was rushing up to meet them awfully fast. He'd begun to contemplate just how much he really wished he'd given this part of the plan some more thought when—CRACK!

Pain. Now, there was a sensation that over time he'd nearly forgotten what felt like. And yet, his senses and his brain were now flooded with it. All Kal-El knew now was pain. Like, a lot. Then, a thought entered his head. That was a good thing. Pain meant that he was alive. He almost wished he weren't. But, he had survived. Another thought registered. It also meant he still had his powers, somewhat at least. If he did not, he would be dead. He was pretty sure. As his brain started revving up again, he thought something—or someone—else. Chloe.

Kal-El raised his head and shoulders, "Ouch!" and looked down (up?) at the small, blonde-haired woman lying on top of him in his arms. He tried scanning her with his X-ray vision, but it kind of flickered on and off until it failed entirely. From what he saw, she didn't have any broken bones, internal bleeding, or other concussive injuries. He tried listening for her heartbeat and breathing. Nope, his super-hearing was on the fritz, too. He'd have to do this the old-fashioned way. He placed his first two fingers under her head where her neck met the back of her jaw and felt for a pulse. She had one; it was both regular and strong. He could see her shoulders and upper-body rise and fall slightly, regularly, in unison with the breaths he felt wash over his face.

"Mmmhhnn…"

That didn't come from Kal-El. It came from Chloe. She groaned.

"Chloe!" Kal-El said aloud, wide-eyed. Her body stirred against his. Kal-El's face broke out in a wide, open-mouthed grin. His elated joy eclipsed his pain and his alarm at losing his powers. He gently lifted Chloe's head in both his hands, leaned in further, and presented her forehead to his lips. He kissed her there softly, dearly, tenderly, gratefully. He did not release her from that act of heartfelt affection for several seconds. Then, he let his head and shoulders fall back down as Chloe fell against him. Kal-El wrapped his arms completely around her, embracing her with such fierce vigor, as if he was afraid she were merely an illusion and would disappear from him if he loosened his grip on her. They lay like that, together, their eyes closed, Kal-El still grinning ear-to-ear, his facial expression one of complete triumph, contentment, and relief. He carefully lowered his chin to rest against the top of her head and relaxed his arms a bit, holding her to him happily. He had his Chloe back. He really did. He knew it.

"Kal!" "Kal-El!"

When Kal-El heard his name called, he gathered Chloe up and sat up. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been long. Nonetheless, the rain had diminished dying down to a drizzle, and although the sky was still thick with clouds overhead, the first rays of dawn poured through a clear break in those clouds on the horizon.

Diana and J'onn came running over and helped Kal-El to his feet. Still smiling and looking at Chloe in his arms, he told them, "We're fine."

J'onn and Diana looked at one another, and she said to Kal-El, "You don't look it."

"If you think I look bad, take a look at what we just did to the deck," Kal-El immediately responded. As he walked off carrying Chloe back to the infirmary, Diana and J'onn looked down at where they formerly stood. Cleaved into the surface was a fissure, created when Kal-El and Chloe made impact with the deck. It was approximately six feet in length, jagged, irregular, splitting into several much tinier cracks at its edges like a river emptying itself into smaller tributaries. At its center, it was about three inches wide and penetrated eight inches deep into the deck. They looked at each other again. Even though neither one knew what Kal-El had just done, they both had a feeling that he and Chloe were lucky to be alive.

.

.

"Kal-El, in my opinion, 'extreme recklessness' doesn't even begin to describe what you just did," Brainiac 5 rebuked the Man of Steel, "The least you could've done was let me or Lightning Lad provide the electricity under controlled conditions with precautions and safety measures."

"It worked, didn't it? Besides, I prefer all-natural to artificial…No offense," Kal-El quickly disavowed the unintended insult to the artificial intelligence staring at him through narrowed eyelids. After another moment, Kal-El asked, "Well?"

"You're fine. No internal injuries of any kind and your surface injuries have already healed up. Didn't take long for your powers to come back in full," Brainiac 5 commented. Kal-El leaped up from the bed he was lying on and rushed across to the other with Chloe in it. When the two of them had returned to the infirmary, Brainiac 5 had insisted that they both be examined. Kal-El initially protested, but that was a nasty fall they took and if he was hurt, there was no sense in letting it go unknown and untreated. Now, with Brainiac 5's clean bill of health, he could turn all his attention back to Chloe.

Kal-El looked at her, the same way he'd been looking at her for days since she'd got here. She looked ragged, but everything else about her seemed peaceful and even relaxed. Breathing anticipation, Kal-El asked, "So, is Chloe finally okay, or what?"

"Preliminarily, she is perfectly healthy in her brain and the rest of her body. As far as I can tell, she's just asleep."

"Asleep? Why doesn't she wake up?"

"She's going to any minute. Give it some time, Kal-El. She's been through _a lot _in the past few days."

"Could she not have my powers? In the past, whenever someone—"

"Oh, I am quite certain that your power transfer was successful. Besides surviving that fall with you outside without getting so much as a scratch, there's this: While I was examining both of you, I attempted to extract a blood sample from Chloe Sullivan. The epidermal layer of her arm did _this _to the syringe," Brainiac 5 revealed as he presented a hypodermic needle with a point shattered into a half dozen pieces.

"Okay, what just happened?" Diana asked.

"Kal-El stole my patient from the infirmary and without authorization performed a very dangerous, potentially lethal procedure on her involving kryptonite and a lightning bolt at an altitude of over a thousand feet. What have you got to say for yourself?" Brainiac 5 scolded.

Kal-El considered the question as he contemplated the chunk of green meteor rock still in his hand. He replied, "Here. Put that back where it belongs?" He then tossed the block of kryptonite over to Brainiac 5 who caught it and frowned and shook his head. Just then, the three Legionnaires walked into the room.

Rokk called out as he entered, "Kal-El, if you just did what I think you did—"

"Rokk, Imra, and Garth, so glad you could join us, again. Now, get out," Kal-El interrupted.

"Excuse me?" Rokk responded genuinely taken aback.

"We need you and the rest of the Legion to leave," Kal-El explained, "That includes you, Brainy. It's going to be enough of a shock to her when Chloe wakes up without her having to find out about being in the 31st Century just yet. Go. Please. But, don't go too far."

Brainiac 5 left to return the kryptonite to the storage chamber. As the remaining three of them ducked into a separate, nearby compartment, Rokk confessed, "I'm starting to think this whole thing was a big mistake."

"What? Bringing Chloe and Connor on board?" Imra asked.

"No, bringing Kal-El, Diana, and J'onn on board," Rokk clarified.

"Well, so far, they haven't caused any major catastrophes," Garth pointed out.

"But, they could have! Bringing people from the past here? Lightning and kryptonite!" Rokk complained.

"I agree all of that was risky. But, I think you're overreacting a bit," Imra observed.

"Yeah, would you rather take on Darkseid by ourselves?" Garth reminded.

Rokk shook his head and said, "I just hope nothing else goes wrong."

"_Nothing has_ gone wrong, yet, Rokk. Try to relax, at least until something actually does," Imra suggested.

Diana turned away from the departing Legion members and looked at Kal-El. She considered Brainiac 5's words about what he'd done with and to Chloe. "Kal…" Diana started to say, somewhere between disapproval and disbelief.

Chloe let out another groan and slowly opened her eyes. "Not now, Diana," Kal-El told her as he stepped right up against the platform-bed and turned his attention entirely on Chloe.

Chloe focused her vision on the person nearest to her, who happened to be Kal-El. He stared back into those eyes, which were nothing like the eyes he saw days before with the glazed-over look he first observed in them at Belle Reve. Chloe's eyes were full of life, alert, darting about slightly, taking in every detail of his face, and her irises were the most radiant shade of green. He'd forgotten just how lovely and welcome a sight those eyes always were to him. Kal-El watched them unmistakably fill with recognition as she registered his features, those same features that were reflected back to him in those shining orbs. She smiled up at him. "Clark," was all she said, and that was all she needed to say. The sound of her voice calling that name—his name from so very long ago—was sweet, symphonic delight to Kal-El's ears. Eagerly, almost reflexively, his arms moved to envelop Chloe in a fast embrace. His hand slid up the back of her neck through her still wet strands of hair and cupped the back of her head. Holding her to him, he turned his head to gently caress her temple with his forehead. He breathed in the scent of her and smiled again broadly. After that tender moment, he withdrew from the embrace to discover a quizzical expression on her face.

"Sorry. Uhm, hey," Kal-El ventured.

Chloe's bemusement quickly changed to amusement as the smile returned to her face. She responded, "Hey…"

"Hello, Chloe," Wonder Woman said with a smile as she too stepped up to the platform-bed.

"Diana, how are you, Big Sis?" Chloe replied with an even brighter smile. 'Big Sis'—Diana was delighted to be able to hear Chloe call her that again. It started off as kind of a joke at the time that Connor began calling her 'Aunt Diana.' One day Chloe commented, "If Connor's your nephew then I guess that makes us sisters…Big Sis." Diana thought Chloe did it just to annoy her. But after a while, as their relationship continued to grow and deepen even more, and Diana became close friends to Clark and to her, their relationship really did become sister-like (to the occasional chagrin of her cousin Lois). So, the nickname stuck. Diana spread her arms around Chloe and locked her into yet another fierce hug. Chloe had no idea what had transpired or what she'd done to deserve all of this attention and outpouring of affection, but she could hardly complain. Seeing the two women together again after all this time holding one another like that was heartwarming for Kal-El. As Diana also let Chloe go after a long moment, J'onn walked into view next.

"It is very good to see you again, Chloe Sullivan," J'onn remarked sincerely.

"Yeah, it's great to see you, too, J'onn. All of you guys…" Chloe said, still not sure what was going on, as her eyes went from person to person. They finally settled on her son standing next to her at bedside. In all the excitement, Kal-El had forgotten that he was even in the room despite his not having left his mother's side since she was returned to her futuristic hospital bed.

"Hey, Mom," Connor said with a look of relief. All this smiling must have been contagious because one overtook Connor's face next.

"Connor," Chloe said to her son. He, too, threw his arms around his mother next and held her tightly. Chloe thought how usually Connor was trying to get his arms around girls his own age and not particularly around Mom anymore. She decided to enjoy this mother-son Kodak moment and squeezed him tightly. Until Connor began to gag, or something.

"Ahh…Ahck! Spine and ribs…crushing…can't breathe!" Connor barely got out as he struggled to get loose and take a breath.

"Oh God, Connor!" Chloe pulled back and instinctively started feeling around her son's upper torso for any broken bones or other injuries. "Are you hurt? I'm sorry, I didn't—" All of a sudden, as Chloe looked at her son's body, all of his external features seemed to flatten and fade into a grayish-blue colored field. Amidst that field, within a Connor-shaped outline of sorts, Chloe could make out with unnerving clarity the white-boned, skeletal structure of her son. In her alarm and desire to make sure that Connor was uninjured, Chloe had unwittingly initiated one of Clark's trademark superpowers upon her son.

"Okay,…that happened…" Chloe said as her alarm began to approach panic.

Kal-El intuited what Chloe had just done. "Chloe, don't freak out," he tried to reassure and calm her. Too late. Chloe was already there.

"Clark…how did…did I just…what just…did you…?" Chloe stammered as she tried to maintain her balance on the bed. Kal-El had to admit that he was enjoying a bit too much this rare moment when Chloe was at a loss for words.

"Yeah, I was getting around to explaining that," Kal-El said as he helped Chloe to lie back down on the bed.

"Explain what?" Chloe asked in measured tones that emphasized each syllable.

Kal-El grasped the edge of the platform-bed with both hands and leaned on it. He looked at Chloe, clicked his tongue between his lips, and told her, "You have my superpowers, Chloe."

"Yeah…?" Chloe trailed off as if still waiting for an explanation.

"Yeah," Kal-El replied simply.

"Wait, you mean…"

"Yes, I do."

"As in…"

"Right."

"Your superpowers…"

"Correct."

"Really?"

"Really. You just gave your son a super-hug. You could've cracked his ribcage, you know, but it looks like he's no worse for wear. You scanned him with X-ray vision, too, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to. I mean, I don't even know how I did it."

"You wanted to see if Connor was okay, and you just kind of willed yourself to do it. Now that I think on it, I recall that after the basic, physical stuff like invulnerability, super-strength, and super-speed, X-ray vision was the first weird power to manifest in me. Early freshman year in high school. In gym class of all places."

"I'm not gonna ask what you were X-raying."

"Please don't. It was an accident anyway. Just like that," Kal-El explained as he indicated to what Chloe had just done with Connor.

"And, what about you? Do you, I mean, can you still…?"

"I've still got all my powers, too, yes. Leaving that aside for now, in general, how are you feeling?"

"I've got a headache like you wouldn't believe. Other than that, I feel great. Just like waking up from a long, deep, restful sleep." Her relaxed, content facial expression turned to one of severity and apprehension. In her anxiety, she asked, "Did I die?"

The four onlookers exchanged glances. Then Diana chanced, "What makes you ask that?"

"Well, it's just, I remember…never mind. It's stupid."

"No, actually, that was going to be my next question. What do you remember before waking up here?" Kal-El delicately put to her.

"Well, I remember arriving in Metropolis with Oliver. We brought Connor along with us. I don't remember much after that…uh, except this one thing…I remember everything was white. And there was bright light everywhere. The whole place was soft where I was. And I was bundled up tight like a child wrapped up in a warm blanket. And it felt like I was being watched over all the time." Chloe looked over at the four of them and noticed they were all frowning a bit. She asked outright, "So, did I die and go to Heaven or what?"

Kal-El's frown only deepened. Poetic notions notwithstanding, it did sound vaguely like a description of being held inside of a padded cell at Belle Reve in a straitjacket under 24-hour guard and observation. Kal-El reversed his frown and forced a smile, "No, Chloe, you didn't die. You're fine. Everything's going to be all right, now." If Chloe managed to turn a nightmarish experience of hell into a delusion of heaven, she wasn't going to get any argument out of him.

"And a headache's not all you got that's unbelievable," Connor said, staring at his mother with a look of shock, "Mom, you look like something out of your Met U yearbook!"

Chloe just smiled and gave her son a look denoting suspicion and condescension, "Why thank you, Connor." She addressed the others next, "So, like, where am I? And, why am I dressed like this? And, why are my clothes and my hair and the rest of me soaked through clean to the bone? So are you, Clark." Chloe took a thorough look around at her surroundings and remarked, "This place looks like a hospital, all right, but it also resembles what a futuristic version of Watchtower would be like. What is going on already?"

"It's a long story, Chloe, and you're dealing with enough as it is. You sure you want to hear this now?" Kal-El cautioned.

Chloe looked straight at Kal-El and demanded, "Spill it, space alien!"

"Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is that you're still in Metropolis. The bad news is that you're not at Watchtower; you're in Legion Headquarters," Kal-El began. He looked over into the next compartment and indicated with a wave of his head for the Legionnaires to return.

"Legion. As in the Legion of Super-Heroes?" Chloe asked with surprise as the 31st-century gang plus Brainiac 5 walked back in.

Kal-El added, "And, the year isn't 2029 anymore. It's the year 3011."

Rokk stepped out in front of the others and acknowledged her, "Welcome to the 31st Century, Chloe Sullivan."

Kal-El asked hopefully, "You remember Rokk Krinn, Imra Ardeen, and Garth Ranzz, right, Chloe?" Chloe smiled awkwardly at them in recognition.

Kal-El hesitantly said of the remaining one, "And, of course…Brainiac Five."

Brainiac 5 eagerly stepped forward and saluted her with, "Hey, Bright Eyes. Remember me?"

Brainiac 5's choice of greeting erased Chloe's smile from her face. "Don't call me that," she warned.

Somewhat bewildered, Brainiac 5 said, "I realize it has been some time, but as I recollect from your memories, you liked being called that by—"

"_You_…don't…call me that…ever," Chloe responded in dead earnest.

Brainiac 5 knew when to quit while he was still ahead. "Fine, I'll just monitor your vitals from over here." He walked over to the other side of the room and ran his hand across the semi-reflective, smooth surface of the compartment wall, activating the electronic mechanisms embedded within. These devices, which were similar to those installed in each platform-bed, presented to Brainiac 5 several display screens and control consoles on the hospital wall face. "Humans. Always so emotional," he murmured to himself.

"Chloe, you remember that Brainiac is a good guy now, don't you?" Kal-El asked.

"It's difficult to forget," was all she said.

Suddenly, realization hit Chloe. "Clark…Diana, you guys are from this century, aren't you?" They both nodded in response. "But…you two look like you haven't aged a day…"

"Seriously, I thought the same thing after they came to pick me up, when I realized they weren't from the 21st century," Connor concurred.

"If you think they're impressive, Chloe, you really should try looking in the mirror," J'onn advised. He touched the wall right alongside Chloe's bed and a panel popped out to reveal a drawer of accessories. He took a plain looking glass from the drawer and handed it to Chloe. Chloe looked at him for a second and turned her eyes to the hand mirror. What was revealed in it was a face Chloe had not seen in decades. Her skin was vibrant, creamy, smooth. The few, tiny creases that had developed at the corners of her eyes and mouth over the years had vanished. Indeed, if her hair were done and not still a mess from the rain, she would look nearly identical to the way she did at that first Thanksgiving dinner with the Kents after Jonathan had died at which Clark, in succeeding his father, had presided over. It was startling for her to observe in that mirror a face that was not hers and yet was at the same time, what had been and was now again. That feeling was quickly replaced by one of welcome at her physical rejuvenation.

"So, how are you Connor?" Imra inquired with some amusement.

"Other than the fact that my mother looks like she could be my older sister? I'm fine, doing great," Connor answered as convincingly as he could.

"I don't care how young or old I look, young man—I was _still_ in labor with you for 18 hours, and don't you forget it!" Chloe told her son.

"How can I when you remind me of that fact on every one of my birthdays?" Connor said back.

Chloe placed the glass down on the bed and folded her hands together. She closed her eyes and her face became a mask of fierce concentration. As her face continued to scrunch up and all her muscles seemed to tense, Kal-El and Diana looked at each other. He then asked, "Uh, Chloe, what are you doing?"

Chloe stopped and her intensity relaxed. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him with disappointment and sheepishly admitted, "Trying to fly?"

"Oh," Kal-El answered and had to work quickly and hard to suppress a grin and a chuckle. "Uhm, come to think of it, I don't remember anyone ever being able to fly after a lightning-induced power-switch with me. But even if you did get that potential, keep in mind how long it took me to learn to fly. It was one of the last of my powers to surface—in fact, I think it was the last."

"Why don't we try something simpler?" Diana suggested. She produced a metal bar about half a meter in length and backed up to about 30 feet away. "Catch, Chloe," Diana said as she flung the rod like a boomerang straight at her.

Seeing this piece of metal coming at her with barely any warning, Chloe instantly sat upright from the bed. As she did, the motion of the metal bar seemed to spontaneously slow tremendously as it sailed through the air. The rotation of the bar became as slow as the second hand on a clock face or the blades of a windmill lazily turning in the wind. The rod itself drifted through the air like a down feather or maple leaf gliding on a light breeze. Chloe had to wait for what seemed like several seconds for the metal bar to even get close. When it finally did, she caught it in both hands as easily as plucking a Frisbee from the air.

"Woah…" Chloe let out as she grasped the bar out in front of her.

"What did you just see, Connor?" Kal-El asked.

"Not much. Mom's hands and arms were all one big blur," Connor replied with stunned amazement. He was used to seeing this sort of thing from his extended relatives but not from his mother.

"How fast was that?" Kal-El asked aloud.

"I clocked that at 165 kilometers per hour," Brainiac 5 reported.

"Next time, don't hold back, Diana," Kal-El told her.

"It's her first time, Kal. We can go easy on her this once," Diana countered.

"What is this? Steel? Aluminum?" Chloe asked. The sound of wrenching metal was heard by all as Chloe pulled and twisted the rod very neatly into a pretzel shape. "Foam rubber?" she added facetiously.

"Titanium alloy, actually, with a yield strength of 1.04 gigapascals. That means more than 150,000 pounds per square inch of applied pressure are required to bend it," Brainiac 5 informed all present.

Chloe contemplated the twisted metal in her hands for a moment and then set it aside on the bed next to the handheld mirror. "I lost my mind, didn't I?" Chloe asked out of the blue.

Awkward silence reigned in the wake of Chloe's verbalized discovery.

"Didn't I?"

Kal-El forced a smile and attempted to make light of it, "Nothing ever gets by you, does it?"

"How bad did I get?" Chloe asked somberly.

"Total mental collapse. I've never seen a brain in worse shape that was still in one piece," Brainiac 5 described as bluntly and detached as if he were forecasting the weather.

"Brainiac…" Kal-El reprimanded.

"She wants the truth, Kal-El. I see no reason to deflect the issue," Brainaic 5 defended himself with.

Kal-El sighed, "Don't mind him. He's still working on his bedside manner." His tone and expression softened as he continued with Chloe, "You were taken to Belle Reve, but you weren't there long," he quickly added.

"We got you out as soon as we could, Chloe," Diana inserted.

"You were there less than a day. We immediately brought you here, to this time, so Brainiac Five could fix you up," Kal-El further explained. Brainiac 5 clicked his heels together and bowed to Chloe melodramatically with one hand on his chest and the other arm extended as if he were bowing to the adulation of a packed theatre. Chloe just folded her arms, dug into the bed, and looked away pouting.

"You see? I told you," Connor said pointing, indicating his mother's reaction.

"He helped to save your life, Chloe, not to mention your mind," Kal-El tried.

"Quite expertly, too, if I say so myself," added Brainiac 5 as he turned back to monitoring Chloe's vital signs displayed across the wall surface.

Begrudgingly, Chloe shouted over to him, "Hey, Milton! Thanks."

Without removing his eyes from the displays, Brainiac 5 barely smiled and shook his head, replying, "Anytime. I actually enjoyed being inside your head again. It was not unlike coming home, even if I did have to do some major renovating to the place."

"You know, all that doesn't explain this," Chloe said with eyebrows raised as she held up the titanium pretzel.

"Brainiac Five isn't quite the expert he advertises himself as. You fell into a coma while he was working on you," Kal-El gently revealed, "This was the only way I could think of to save you." Chloe remained silent as she hung her head. Kal-El tipped her chin up to him so he could look at her. Chloe looked back at him with eyes that were glistening with unshed tears. Kal-El's eyebrows turned upward in sincere sympathy as he reassured her, "Hey, you don't have to worry about any of that now, ever again. It's all over, Chloe. You're fine, now. That part of your life is in the past. And, you'll never have to be afraid of it, again."

Tears began to drop from Chloe's eyes and trail down her cheeks. She sniffled as she hastily wiped the tears from her face. "Sorry. It's a lot to take in. I just…"

"You don't have to explain anything, Chloe," Kal-El told her quietly.

Chloe took in a deep breath as she fought to regain her composure. "So, how did you do it? I mean, I assume lightning and kryptonite, but don't meteor rocks hurt you anymore?"

"I've lived under Earth's yellow Sun for almost a thousand years, and being exposed to its radiant energy for that long has maxed out all my powers. Also, I've been exposed to a lot of 'K' many times over the same period. It took a long time, but I developed a kind of acquired immunity to most forms of kryptonite. It hardly affects me anymore."

"Kal-El's immunity has made him quite resistant to all but the most highly concentrated samples of kryptonite or, perhaps, something like a weapon that fires focused kryptonite-radiation beams. Otherwise, it would take a prolonged duration of exposure to have any effect on him. Your rarer forms of kryptonite, like black or gold, can still affect him, though," J'onn elaborated.

"Where's Oliver? Didn't you bring him, too?" Chloe asked.

To that question, Kal-El kept silent on the outside but was beginning to panic on the inside. Fortunately, Rokk jumped in, "The Legion Code forbade bringing him here to our time. I'm sorry. Technically, we had to break protocol just to allow you to come here. We allowed your son to accompany you as a concession."

Chloe thought all this over carefully. She questioned, "Why am I really here?"

"What do you mean?" Kal-El asked.

"Look, I can't tell you guys how much I appreciate what you've done for me, really. And, I know you all love me and there's nothing you wouldn't do for me, but all this just to get my head screwed back on right? It's a little much even for me. So, what's up?"

Kal-El looked at Rokk Krinn and reluctantly motioned with his hand to go ahead and show her. Cosmic Boy stepped up to the foot of the bed and began tapping the platform console. As he moved his fingers across the glassy surface of the terminus, a 'bleep' tone emitted from the mechanism. The lights in the room dimmed, and a 3-dimensional, holographic image of the Milky Way Galaxy projected up from the platform into the air four feet above where Chloe lay.

"Wow," Chloe remarked spellbound.

Rokk reached into the hologram and touched his finger to an area near the edge of the image at the outer end of one of the spiral arms emanating from the galactic core. As the image "zoomed" into the local area around Rokk's hand and what he was pointing to became magnified, a dark-red planet dotted with lava pits across its surface and flares of fire erupting high into the atmosphere filled nearly all of the holographic space.

"Look familiar?" he asked of Chloe.

"My God. Apokolips," Chloe said in response.

"These images were picked up by one of the Legion's outermost deep space probes stationed near the rim of the galaxy. The planet crossed the galactic threshold on May 15—a little over seven weeks ago. It's headed straight for Earth. It's traversed over ten thousand light-years already and has under sixty-five thousand more to go before it gets here," Rokk explained. The hologram zoomed back out from the image of Apokolips and re-presented the image of the Milky Way. A red line indicating the path already taken by Apokolips ran from galaxy's edge until it intersected with that dark world. Changing to the color yellow, the line continued along tracing the planet's projected path through the holographic model of the galaxy, detouring around the galactic core, and ending about halfway between the center and the edge of the galaxy opposite where Apokolips entered. Chloe didn't need to read the text window that popped up at the end of the line to know that the destination was Earth. She thoughtfully considered everything being said as she attentively listened and watched.

"Along the way, it's attacked half a dozen populated planets," Rokk continued as he again manipulated the console. Six small, red circles were drawn along the red, outer trajectory of Apokolips, and the hologram magnified the planets encircled within presenting their enlarged images in a 3x2 grid. He "touched" the blue-green planet in the upper-left corner of the grid, and the images of the other five planets faded away as the hologram centered on the remaining world. "This planet belongs to a star system on the edge of the galaxy; it was the first to be attacked by Darkseid. This is what happened just two days after Apokolips arrived in the Milky Way." The hologram then became a 3-dimensional video of the menacing, fiery planet closing in on its hapless, celestial victim until it was on top of the other world in a rendezvous eerily and frighteningly reminiscent of Earth's encounter with Apokolips a millennium ago. "We lost all contact a day later." Rokk swiped his finger across the console surface, and the holographic display disappeared completely from view. The lights in the room came back on full.

Cosmic Boy continued, "What you just saw was repeated five more times in as many weeks. Our intelligence on these attacks is limited, but survivors did get out. In every case, they reported the same thing: Wave after wave of Parademons led by Furies sweeping across each planet. Vast numbers of people marked by Omega symbols on their foreheads turning against their own kind. Whole world populations decimated—with all of them killed or becoming Darkseid's disciples. Many were then taken onto Apokolips as prisoners or as foot soldiers for use in the next assault, including the handful of Legionnaires assigned to protect that region of space."

"Total losses?" Chloe asked, down to business.

"That's the strange thing. Each of these planets was made up of purely civilian populations. No military bases or stations. As far as fighting capabilities, except for the Legionnaires, losses were minimal. In terms of military warfare, these planets are of no strategic value whatsoever. And, Apokolips doesn't need to refuel and resupply," Rokk answered.

"Then, what's the point? Why the attacks? Why the raids?" Chloe questioned.

Saturn Girl responded next, "Fear, we think. That's why he let the survivors escape to tell the tale. If we're right, Darkseid is waging a campaign of terror. And, it's working. Legion morale is at an all-time low."

"And you want _my _help? Against _that_? What can I possibly do? I can't do anything to help you," Chloe told them.

"Yes, you can. You can do something _no_ one else can," Kal-El hinted at.

"What?"

"Mentor the Legion," Kal-El announced.

Chloe opened her mouth as if to speak and quickly closed it, furrowing her eyebrows in thought, as if she'd just heard the punch line to a joke and was completely baffled by it. "It's called the 'Legion of Super-Heroes,' isn't it? They're already heroes. What am I going to mentor them in? Mental hygiene?" Chloe quipped.

"The Legion is not ready to face Darkseid and win. Most of them have never even seen Darkseid. They've only heard stories, and the stories they've heard are either overexaggerated or not exaggerated enough. The few who have taken him on…let's just say they didn't fare as well as Superman and Wonder Woman," Diana revealed.

"And that isn't even our real problem. Darkseid isn't fighting in his physical, humanoid form—if he was, that would be bad enough. This time, he's returned as the Darkness. You remember what that was like, don't you?" Kal-El said.

"It's hard to forget. I had to face that darkness up close and personal. Just like you did," Chloe replied.

"When Apokolips first appeared, we realized that Darkseid had been busy on Earth for sometime already—years in fact. All kinds of division are on the rise: nationalism, hard-line political factions, religious sectarianism, even at sports events whole riots have broken out. Civility? There is no civility. Vitriol and violence are common. Humanoid decency, common respect, acknowledgement of the basic dignity of another no matter how much you might disagree with them, are all almost gone. Far too many people out there seem to think that if you've got a mouth and an axe to grind, then that gives you wholesale license to hate whomever you wish and to be vocal about your contempt. To say whatever you want and do whatever you want regardless of the consequences. And not enough people are willing to take a stand against these militant movements and in no uncertain terms reject and condemn that kind of thinking. Speaking of having an axe to grind, we're sure that's where the Persuader and his like are coming out of the woodwork from. Other anti-extraterrestrial-alien groups like the Human Supremacist Movement are continuing to pop up everywhere, too," Rokk Krinn lamented.

"That's part of the reason why you're here. Don't get me wrong. These Legionnaires—they're courageous, they're intelligent, they're capable—but they're basically still children. They're not the Justice League. They lack the emotional maturity, the confidence, the humility, the self-mastery, the inner strength to take on the enemy. Darkseid will exploit those weaknesses. He will use them against them either to destroy them or to make them his own. Just like Jor-El and Brainiac Five warned he would try to do with me. Just like he did do to Oliver," Kal-El explained.

"Imagine a Legion of Super-Villains, all of them marked with the Omega sign on their brow, all of them in the service of Darkseid right alongside the forces he already has at his disposal. The entire Green Lantern Corps wouldn't be able to stop them. There would be no place safe in the galaxy to hide," J'onn J'onzz described.

"Why can't you help with that, Clark? You faced the Darkness and won. Or Kara—she's here, isn't she? The Darkness couldn't touch her. Diana can train the Legion to fight Darkseid and his armies better than I could. You told me once that these people have never even heard of me. That history doesn't remember Chloe Anne Sullivan. Why me?" Chloe asked genuinely puzzled.

"They don't need to be trained to fight armies; they need to be taught how to fight the darkness. And they can't learn to do that from someone who never had to do it themselves because they were immune to Darkseid's influence. So, Kara is out; for the same reason someone else from the past like Lois Lane, for example, whom they have heard of and do know, is also out. We don't have to worry about the 'pure of heart.' We have to worry about the ones the darkness is going to corrupt. And, as for me, the legend of Superman has grown and been overblown so far out of proportion over the last millennium that most of the Legion, present company excepted, practically worships him. I'm not being egotistical when I say that," Kal-El answered.

Brainiac 5 chimed in then, "He's right. They see him as the incorruptible, invulnerable beacon of hope and truth and justice in the universe. It would be devastating to Legion morale if they were to learn that Darkseid was able to hold sway over Superman to any degree for any length of time or that he was partially corrupted by the darkness and could have been possessed by it."

Kal-El continued, "Half the Legion would lose all hope and go down in a spiral of despair asking themselves 'If Superman had to struggle against the darkness and could potentially have lost, what chance do we have?' The other half would go into denial and never accept it, which puts us back at square one. 'Superman is Superman. He's invulnerable and incorruptible. I am weak and vulnerable. What can he know about my struggle? I can't rise to his level. So, I can't really learn from him.' It may even drive them to anger because they could think that they're being asked to perform the impossible."

Diana further elucidated, "We need someone who is not so super, someone not as legendary. We need someone who is clearly human and vulnerable and has their weaknesses, and in spite of that was still strong enough and clever enough and heroic enough to beat Darkseid."

"The Legion is scared: Of Darkseid, of invasion, of the Earth being doomed. But mostly, they're just scared of failing, of not being able to do the job they were recruited to do, of not being good enough to save the galaxy. They're afraid that they're not really heroes. They're a lot like a boy we used to know a long time ago that played at being superhero before actually becoming one. You helped that boy more than you can know. And, you've helped dozens more to become the heroes they were meant to be. That's the other reason why you're here. You were the greatest hero mentor ever. Oliver knew it. Bruce knew it. Diana knows it. I know it. And, so do you," Kal-El insisted.

Chloe spoke, "First off, Clark, I see after all this time you still don't give yourself enough credit, but that's nothing new. Second, you know that mentoring heroes isn't as easy as you're making it sound. It takes time. They need to be able to trust me. I have to be able to build a rapport with them. How can I do that if they don't even know who I am?"

Kal-El pointed out, "It was never a problem for you before. Every one of your success stories at one point in time didn't know who you were. You were able to bring them all around. Besides, the whole Legion knows who you are now. They are quite eager to meet Kal-El's best friend from his youth—the first person who believed in him—and to learn from the one who taught him to believe in himself. We need you. The Legion needs you. I need you."

Chloe pondered everything she heard from the Legion and her friends carefully. "So, the fate of Earth and the whole galaxy is at stake here, huh? No problem," Chloe understated. The truth was that what Clark was telling her made sense to her. A hero goes where they are needed and does what is necessary. She was needed here. This was necessary. For everyone's sake.

"All right," Chloe declared solemnly, "I'll do it."


	9. Chapter 9: Game Changer

Chapter 9: Game Changer

.

_You're always there when I need you, Clark. I just hope, someday, I can do the same for you. _– Chloe Sullivan; from _Onyx_

.

Kal-El took Chloe's hand in his own and gave it an affectionate, approving squeeze. Chloe responded to him with a small but warm smile.

"All right, then. I still insist that Ms. Sullivan remain here under observation for at least the next twenty-four hours. So that we may be certain there are no residual effects from any of her ordeals," Brainiac 5 said, emphasizing the plural. "And, I want you, Kal-El, to immediately report it to me if you experience _anything_ out of the ordinary. There is no indication of anything wrong with you, now, but that is not to say there isn't any risk that you could develop a problem in the future. As I warned, the effects of kryptonite are highly unpredictable, even if initially subtle."

"Is any of that really necessary, Brainy?" Kal-El protested.

"Yes, it is—all of it." Brainiac 5 asserted. With a sigh, Kal-El tacitly agreed. Brainiac 5 addressed Chloe once again, "Perhaps you'd like to freshen up. There's a private bath over there," Brainiac 5 informed Chloe, pointing to another section of the infirmary, "There are fresh towels and clothing on the wall rack. Why don't the rest of you give her some privacy?"

As the others headed for the door, Diana rubbed Chloe's shoulder, saying, "It's good to have you back, Chloe." Chloe smiled to her as Diana followed the rest. As all but Brainaic 5 filed out of the infirmary, Kal-El turned back to Chloe and cautioned her, "Be careful, Chlo. Remember, you don't know your own strength anymore." With a mischievous grin, Kal-El exited the infirmary.

"Brainy?" she taunted with a derisive grin as she repeated the moniker at Brainiac 5. The living machine did not move or respond in the least way. Nonetheless, Chloe was satisfied that she'd gotten her dig in. Chloe shifted her body to dangle her legs over the edge of the platform-bed and slid off of it. When her feet made contact with the floor, she went off in the direction that Braniac 5 had indicated. As she approached a door marked "Medical Personnel Only," Chloe considered Kal-El's last words to her. She paused before the door, her thoughts suddenly filled with images of unintentionally reducing soap bars to fine powder in her hands, accidently ripping tap handles from the walls, and having to resort to crushing and/or twisting the water faucet to stop the flow of water. With some trepidation she pushed the door open and entered the bath.

It turned out that her anxieties were unfounded. The shower mechanisms were voice-activated, including setting the water temperature, pressure, and even the percent soap solution dispensed during the washing "program." The 31st century definitely had its advantages. Yet, even as one set of immediate concerns evaporated, they were replaced with a whole set of new, more long-term ones. Even as she welcomed the glorious feel of hot water splashing over her naked body, even as she was determined to fulfill her promise and see all of this through to the end with Clark and Diana and J'onn and the Legion, even then she could not help but wonder, _What have I gotten myself into?_

Later, after she had washed, dried, and changed into a new set of hospital clothing, Chloe made her way back across the infirmary, still drying her hair as she returned to her bed. Wringing the last of the water droplets from her hair, Chloe let her eyes drift aimlessly through the room until they settled upon a couple of new items not seen before her shower: A dozen tulips minus one—red, yellow, and violet—had been placed in a glass vase, immersed in water contained therein, atop a small stand next to the head of her bed. Boldly exhibiting bright-red pedals, another solitary tulip—the one that, Chloe presumed, had gone missing from the rest collected in the vase—adorned her recently fluffed pillow. Providing companionship was a small card placed alongside it on the pillow's soft surface. With curiosity piqued and her eyes fixed upon the colorful newcomers, Chloe withdrew her hands from her damp strands and bade them take the lone, wayward flower that having abandoned her sisters had found its way onto her bed. Wound around its green stem, were red, gold, and blue ribbons intertwined with one another and tied into an elegant bow. Chloe's face broke out into another affectionate grin as she concluded aloud to herself, "Clark…" She picked up the card next and flipped it open to see what was within. Her grin widened and brightened as her suspicions were confirmed by its simple yet caring message written in Kal-El's own hand, "Welcome to the team. Love, Clark. P.S. I missed you." Putting her palm gently to their soft pedals, she lowered her head to the tulips in the vase and breathed in their pleasing aroma. "Tulips…my favorite. He remembered," Chloe said to herself. She climbed back into bed and, still smiling, brought the decorated blossom to her nose, sampled its sweet fragrance, and then reread the contents of the card.

What Chloe did not notice was the figure in the doorway watching her closely. With one hand on his hip and his other forearm above his head resting on the doorframe, Kal-El leaned against the side of the doorway observing Chloe. As he did, his thoughts turned to what he'd done in the short time since seeing her again: The incident with the door at Belle Reve, the amazing kiss they'd shared at the top of Legion HQ (although admittedly, Kal-El had done most of the sharing), the thrill and joy of just being able to hold her to him again, knowing she was safe in his arms. He couldn't help but wonder where this was going? Was it wise to indulge his feelings? Follow them to their logical end? As far as Chloe was concerned, she was still a married woman. She didn't remember anything about her husband's death, at least not now. But, the strength of those feelings, the intensity of them, they surprised even him. Kal-El hadn't expected to feel this way. Diana was right. He wasn't used to feeling much of anything anymore. And even though she'd given him every reason to, every opportunity, he'd never felt this strongly about Chloe before…had he? It all seemed so long ago. It all _was_ so long ago. He didn't know what to think. Only that he couldn't ignore what he felt.

Kal-El stood upright on his own two feet and brought his arm down from the doorframe and back to his side. It was still early morning, and he had to get this day started. There was a lot of work to do. Chloe would need a room and clothes. The Legion needed to be prepped to meet with her. And Connor. There were all kinds of arrangements to be made. Maybe his thoughts would become clearer once he began to work with Chloe and the Legion. Perhaps then he could make sense of all this. He took one last, long look at Chloe already asleep again and was about to turn around to leave when something happened.

Kal-El's surroundings seemed to very suddenly and completely shift. He no longer appeared to be in the Legion Headquarters' infirmary, at all. And, despite it being quite impossible, he nevertheless did know exactly where he was now. He was still in a hospital, just the wrong one. There was no mistaking the halls of Smallville Medical Center. At least, the way they looked a thousand years ago.

His clothing had changed, too, all on their own. Gone was his trademark Superman costume. In its place, Kal-El—or should we say Clark—wore a different trademark of his: a button-down, flannel shirt that was mostly red with narrow green and white stripes arranged in a cross pattern. Over that, he wore a solid-dark-blue, zip-up jacket. Clark patted down his shirt and grasped the flaps of his jacket, just to make sure they were real, as he looked down in alarm at denim jeans and sneakers.

There was no warning. No optical or auditory phenomena. No perceivable indication of teleportation or time-travel. In the blink of an eye, everything was different. Clark looked through the open blinds of the nearest window into the room beyond. On the other side, he saw Chloe. She was in bed, tucked under blankets, and wore a lemon-yellow hospital gown. She was the exact distance away from him now as she had been (will be?) from him at the Legion's infirmary. The moment Clark laid eyes on Chloe, all feelings of disorientation, surprise, confusion, and apprehension along with all awareness and memories of the future vanished as quickly as his previous environment had done. He knew where he was, why he was there, and what he intended to do now. Being there was totally natural and expected, as if this moment had already been scripted, and he was there simply to fulfill a role that had been chosen for him. Almost of their own volition, Clark's feet carried him to the door, which he then opened and walked through. He approached Chloe's bed and sat down at the foot of it. As he did, he spoke, "Hey."

"Hey," Chloe answered after a brief pause.

"How're you feeling?" Clark asked with some concern.

"Finally made the Wall of Weird. Hah…" Chloe tried to lighten the mood with.

Clark smiled a wide grin at that, chuckled quietly, looked down and away, gave his head a nod, and turned back to look at her, saying, "Congratulations."

"I heard about that thing they extracted from me," Chloe continued, then lifted her head and swallowed, "Did they get a picture I can see?"

"You don't need to see it," Clark warned as he winced with disgust.

"It's gross?" Chloe asked, her own face following in kind.

Nodding his head rapidly, Clark agreed, "Pretty bad."

"How's Pete?"

"Pete's okay; he'll be fine," Clark reassured.

"Good."

Clark then broached next, "So, what do you remember about what happened?"

Chloe looked down in thought for a brief moment and then met Clark's eyes again. "Pretty much everything, I think. Especially the part about you being from another planet, and that's the reason why—not the meteor rocks—you can do all the amazing things you can, like invulnerability, super-speed, heat vision…did I leave anything out?"

"No, that about covers it," Clark confirmed, not sure whether he was relieved or terrified.

"So, that would then make you like an…" Chloe mouthed the first syllable of the word "alien" but couldn't quite say it.

"Yeah," Clark confirmed again.

Chloe took on a look of unabashed amazement and disbelief. Unable to quite get out what she wanted to say (or even sure of what she did want to say), she raised her hand and began gesturing in the air as if that would enable her to formulate a coherent sentence, "Uh…but you…you look so…"

"Human?" Clark finished for her. It was unusual for Chloe Sullivan to be stunned to utter silence, but this seemed to qualify as one such rare occasion. Clark couldn't tell by her face if she was afraid, repulsed, or simply floored at the revelation she received. He turned to look off to the side and slightly down at the floor before reminding her of a simple fact, "I'm still the same person."

Chloe blinked several times before finally saying, "Clark, I…I…" She breathed an awkward laugh and tried again. "I think you're so amazing. You save people's lives and take zero credit for it. To me you're more than just a hero. You're a superhero," she declared with a slight smile replacing her previous stunned look.

"Chloe…" Clark began, shaking his head, unconvinced by the faith she placed in him.

"No, I'm serious, Clark," Chloe insisted, "If more humans were like you, the world would be a better place." Clark just looked at her. _She _is_ serious…She really means it, _Clark thought to himself. He smiled a little at that. Chloe smiled right back. At that point, Clark couldn't help but smile full at her.

Feeling the need to justify herself on one particular point, Chloe revealed, "You know, Clark, back at the barn you mentioned how you were surprised that I hadn't figured out your secret already. In my defense, I did always have my suspicions—the quick exits, the miraculous recoveries, the lame excuses—even if I did need to see you catch…a falling car by the bumper with your bare hands like it was a beach ball…to kind of confirm everything. But, watching you do it through the windshield from the front seat of said car—that just shot the 'wow' factor into the stratosphere." Chloe paused before asking, "Does anyone else know? Your secret, I mean?"

Clark shook his head, "Just Pete…and Mom and Dad, of course."

"Well, I want you to know that I will never be the iceberg to your Titanic. And, your secret will never, ever leave my lips. No matter what," Chloe continued, "I will _never_ let anyone hurt you in the only way they could. You protect all of us everyday. I will always protect _you." _Chloe reached to take Clark's hand in her own. "I'm proud of our friendship, Clark Kent. I always have been. And, knowing who you really are and what you really do, it only makes me love you more. And…it felt good to be wanted by you, even if you don't anymore," Chloe confessed.

The thing was, he did still want her, now more than ever. So, why was Chloe speaking in the past tense like it was over? Clark frowned in confusion.

"It's all right, Clark," Chloe responded, misinterpreting Clark's facial expression, "I don't expect you to reciprocate. I know where your heart lies and with whom. I just want you to know exactly how I feel. Even though you don't feel the same way about me."

That's it. Clark couldn't take anymore. In one clean, swift, continuous motion he turned in place, planted his knee on the bed for leverage, leaned into Chloe quickly, and taking her head in his hands, kissed her full on the mouth—hungrily, greedily. She was wrong. Chloe didn't know him as well as she thought she did. And she underestimated herself and what Clark was capable of feeling for her—if only she would give him a reason to. Now, she'd given him every reason to. She knew his secret—all of it—and she wasn't afraid. She didn't recoil from him in horror or look at him with fear. She had accepted it and him completely. She even praised him and reassured him and swore that she would protect and defend him no matter the cost. And in spite of everything, she proclaimed her undying love for him and expected nothing in return. It didn't take long for Chloe to respond to Clark's kiss with equal need, once she overcame the shock of suddenly and instantly finding his lips on hers. As Chloe's arms wound behind Clark's neck, his hand circled around to grasp the back of her head while his other hand circled around her back. Pulling her body up to meet his, their already passionate kiss deepened…

Kal-El came to with a feeling of disorientation, not knowing where he was or what was happening. He rubbed his eyes quickly and looked around. Now, he was standing in the doorway of the infirmary at Legion Headquarters, again. He looked across the way and saw Chloe still in bed sound asleep—the card and flower still in her loose grasp. After a moment, he shook off the feeling and considered what he'd just experienced.

Whatever it was, it was vivid and familiar and unnerving in its realness and left him with a distinct feeling of déjà vu. He was tempted to label it a flashback because it seemed like reliving a strong memory only more so. Like a waking dream or hallucination of something that happened in the past. _Just one problem with that, though. That isn't the way it happened. _A part of him actually wished it had. A very big part of him. A thought suddenly came to him that profoundly disturbed him, even gave him a feeling of panic. What if they _had_ changed history? What if what he just experienced was some kind of temporal correction memory realignment that left him with false remnants of a timeline of events that never happened and now…_Wait a minute. That can't be it. We went back only to the year 2029—decades after when I was in high school. There is no way we could've changed anything _that_ far back in the past. _So, then, what just happened?

"Kal?" a familiar voice called from behind him that made Kal-El jump. In his state of preoccupation, Diana had startled him. She'd noticed. "What's wrong, Kal?"

"I…I'm not sure. How long have you two been standing there?" Kal-El asked.

"A few minutes, perhaps," J'onn J'onzz answered.

"We were waiting for you," Diana explained.

"We wanted to talk," J'onn furthered.

"Did I…go…anywhere?" Kal-El tentatively put.

"Go? No. You were just standing in the doorway the whole time," Diana answered unsure of what Kal-El was getting at.

"Getting a good look at our slumbering, newest addition, I'd say," J'onn observed.

"You're sure?" Kal-El asked again.

"There's nowhere you _could _have gone, Kal. You didn't even move an inch," Diana reassured.

"Not an inch?" Kal-El repeated.

"Still as a statue. What's the matter?" Diana questioned yet again.

Kal-El laid the matter to rest, "Nothing. Never mind. What did you want to talk about?"

"Chloe," J'onn said.

"Of course. What else would it be?" Kal-El barely more than mumbled.

"And Connor, too," Diana clarified, "You know that Chloe's lack of memory is only a temporary reprieve. She's going to remember what she saw happen to Oliver. And, Connor's going to need to be told, too."

"I told you—I will take care of it," Kal-El insisted.

"But, you haven't, Kal," Diana observed.

"She just woke up only a little while ago," Kal-El explained, "Look, is that what this is about? You want me to give Chloe and Connor the worst news of their lives sooner rather than later?"

"No. It's about…Don't you think Chloe may have agreed to stay a bit too quickly?" Diana asked.

"No," Kal-El responded tersely.

"It's not as though she's visiting for only the week and then it's back to 2029 for her and her son. Not to mention that the fate of the galaxy is hanging in the balance," J'onn explained.

"Yeah, and she's used to that sort of thing from us," Kal-El replied undaunted.

"It took her all of sixteen seconds to decide to help us after she was attacked, watched her husband get shot and die, suffered a mental breakdown, was committed to an asylum, fell into a catatonic state followed by a coma, and woke up—in the Thirty-first Century with your powers not having remembered that Oliver is dead—to a request to help save the world from Apokolips again."

Clark stared at Diana for a full ten seconds without moving. He wasn't sure what impressed him more—that Diana was able to formulate that complete sentence in her mind or that she was able to get it all out in a single breath without missing a beat. Clark then blinked slowly and asked, "And your point is?"

"You don't think it strange that she didn't need any time to think it over? To really understand what she was getting herself and her son into before agreeing to help?" Diana asked a bit incredulous.

"No, I think Chloe's a strong, smart, heroic, independent woman who knows that she belongs with her friends who love her, especially when they need her because the survival of the world is at stake," Kal-El explained.

"Consequently, both Chloe Sullivan and Connor Hawke are now in as much danger as the rest of us," J'onn pointed out.

"What is with the two of you? This was the plan, wasn't it?" Kal-El asked nearing exasperation.

"Yes, it was. But, you know the history of the last thousand years, Kal-El, as do we, and we all know that Chloe and Connor are not part of it. Neither Chloe Sullivan nor Connor Hawke ever returned to the Twenty-first Century. Which means that either we win and they choose to stay here in the Thirty-first Century, or…" Diana put carefully.

"Or they both die here before they ever get the chance to make that choice," J'onn put bluntly.

Kal-El looked into the eyes of both of them, just so there was no mistaking that their concerns had registered with him, before he spoke, "I'm going to say this just once: Option two happens over _my_ dead body." He turned past them and began to walk away down the hall.

"We are afraid that that too could happen, Kal-El," J'onn indicated.

Kal-El stopped, but did not turn around, and said simply, "Chloe Sullivan doesn't die. Period." Then he continued walking away toward his quarters.

.

.

Exactly twenty-four hours later, the following morning, Kal-El arrived at the infirmary again, eager to get Chloe out and work alongside her the way they had so often done in the past. He saw her wide-awake, reclining in an almost up-right position.

"Chloe?" Kal-El called as he stepped through the door.

"Clark!" Chloe responded, with a look of panic on her face.

"What is it?" Kal-El asked as he rushed to her bedside, instantly all serious.

"Get me the _heck _out of here!" Chloe pleaded.

"Calm down, Chloe. It can't be that bad."

"No, you don't understand, Clark. That so-called doctor, Brainiac? He hasn't let me leave this bed except to use the bathroom, and he's found and 'evaluated' parts of me that _Gray's Anatomy _doesn't have names for. This isn't a hospital—it's a medieval dungeon complete with torture chamber," Chloe whispered in an anxiety-ridden voice.

It was all Kal-El could do to hold back the laughter as he sat down beside Chloe on the edge of the bed, but his smile betrayed his thoughts. "You know, it is so good to have you back, Chloe."

"This isn't funny, Clark—I'm under duress here! Come on, you smuggled me out of Belle Reve. Getting me out of this place can't be any harder than that," Chloe continued her impassioned pleas.

"Here, I've got something for you that will cheer you up," Kal-El said as he offered her a tall mug filled with rich, dark, steaming liquid.

"Give it here!" Chloe cried as she took the cup into her hands with such reverence, one would think she was taking the Holy Grail itself into her hands, "I'd know that smell anywhere." She greedily began gulping her coffee down, and her demeanor completely changed as something approaching nirvana came over her, "Mmmmm. That's—"

"Mocha latte with almond-flavored syrup and extra whip cream," Kal-El completed the identification of her confection for her.

"My hero," Chloe said with a look of sheer joy and peace as she took another draught of the frothy, brownish nectar. Licking away the whipped cream from her lips, she added, "Clark, I could kiss you." Kal-El's eyes darkened considerably at Chloe's suggestion. "They still make these in the Thirty-first Century?" Chloe inquired somewhat surprised.

"Humans first started drinking coffee probably sometime in the Fifteenth Century, so I doubt it's going away any time soon. But, getting this particular blend now did take some doing. I'm glad you're enjoying it," Kal-El answered satisfactorily.

"It's heavenly. Thank you, Clark." Kal-El responded with an easy smile. Chloe looked at him and returned the smile in kind until she heard the sound of Brainiac 5 approaching her compartment. "Oh, God. The warden's back. Hide me, Clark!" Chloe pleaded again as she gave her coffee back to Kal-El and threw the blankets over her head as she tried to lie as flat as possible on the platform-bed.

"I don't think that would work even if Brainiac Five didn't have X-ray vision, Chloe," Kal-El said, still smiling as he rose from her bed, "Don't worry. I'll see to it that you make parole."

Brainiac 5 entered the room, approached the bed, and looked down at the Chloe-shaped mass concealed by blankets. Without a hint of surprise or amusement or any other feeling, he inquired, "And how is our patient doing this morning?"

Chloe pulled back the covers and sat up replying with a piqued tone, "Ready to leave."

"Not until your outpatient interview," Brainiac 5 insisted.

After a moment, Kal-El asked, "Are we waiting for something?"

Just then, Connor practically stumbled through the doorway, as if coming to the end of a mad rush. He paused to regain his composure and offered a quick, "Hi," to everyone as he walked up to Chloe's side.

"Not anymore," Brainiac 5 replied to Kal-El's question and then turned his attention to Connor, "You're late. I called your quarters ten minutes ago."

"Sorry, I got lost," Connor answered a bit put off by Brainiac's accusation.

"Good thing you ran into Imra, then, so she could supply you with directions," Brainiac 5 commented.

"You heard us—er, her?" Connor asked leerily.

"We all did, Connor, including your mother," Kal-El answered, smirking a bit and never taking his eyes off Chloe.

"I must say, Imra is usually a serious person, not generally given to giggling like a schoolgirl, especially when allegedly doing something as banal as pointing out which corridor leads to the infirmary," Brainiac 5 insinuated.

"We're going to need to talk later, Connor. Set some ground rules while we're here in the future," Chloe told her son.

"Garth might want a word with you, too. They are dating, after all," Kal-El informed his nephew.

"I thought we were here to discuss my mom's medical condition, so why am I the topic of conversation?" Connor asked, eager to drop the current subject and bring it over to something else.

"Quite right. I've completed a full medical workup on Ms. Sullivan and am ready to share my findings," Brainiac 5 revealed. He then opened his mouth to continue but paused before speaking. "Kal-El?" Brainiac asked expectantly.

"Right," Kal-El resignedly put forth. He started to leave but Chloe grabbed hold of his arm.

"Where are you going, _Kal-El?" _Chloe interrogated in a striking tone. He raised his eyebrows at hearing Chloe call him by his Kryptonian name for the first time. "Clark stays," Chloe confirmed to Brainiac 5 as her eyes shifted from the mechanical Kryptonian to the biological one. She added, "You're family, remember?" Kal-El grinned, taking her hand from his arm and gripping it in his own as he wondered in which one of the myriad ways Chloe meant that statement.

"Very well," Brainiac 5 ended that with and then continued, "I am not aware of your full medical history, Ms. Sullivan. In fact, I know nothing about your medical history post-2008, as you must know, so I have no basis for comparison. However, this is what I can tell you. You have no infections or maladies of any kind that I can detect. Your brain continues to exhibit normal activity consistent with a typical female human—a typical human female in her early-to-mid-twenties, that is. All of your internal organs are present, including tonsils, appendix, and gall bladder. You even have a full set of teeth, complete with all wisdom teeth. In short, you're in perfect health. This will also interest you: Whatever stage of menopause or pre-menopause you may have been experiencing, you will not be any longer. Welcome back to the joys and woes of fertility—so don't be caught by surprise when you experience your next menstrual cycle. Oh, and finally…you're 'intact.'"

Brainiac 5 finishing giving his medical report on Chloe Sullivan to them on that particular point left stunned faces and slight jaw-drops on her and Kal-El. Connor on the other hand observed a bit naively, "Of course, she's intact. Mom's never been in better shape!"

"No, Connor, I was not referring to her body as a whole. I meant _intact," _Brainiac 5 clarified, "The protective layer of tissue has regenerated inside of her—"

"Thank you, Brainiac!" Kal-El interjected visibly uneased, "For far more information than any of us needed to know!"

"Humanoids," Brainiac 5 muttered to himself, "Always so uptight about anything having remotely to do with sexuality." He then spoke up louder so as to be heard, "We're done here. You both can leave as soon as you're ready." With that, he turned away from and left Chloe's bedside.

Kal-El glanced over at Connor who looked like he was about to vomit…or pass out…or both. "You okay, Nephew?" he asked.

"I think I may be traumatized for life. I so didn't need to hear that…about my own mother," Connor replied, visibly stricken.

"Pretend you didn't," Kal-El advised the stupefied youth. He, then, took a breath and forced an awkward smile at Chloe. "So, how do you feel?" he asked hopefully.

"I feel fine," Chloe returned convincingly as she too forced an unconvincing smile. As she looked at Kal-El, she noticed that his eyes had slipped into a gaze that began to inspect every aspect of her face, as if he were trying to commit to memory every detail of her countenance. Then, slowly at first, her own eyes began scanning his face in reciprocation to all the attention she was receiving from his. She tilted her head to the side and squinted in rapt examination of him.

Something about Clark was nagging at Chloe that she couldn't place her finger on. When she finally realized to her surprise what it was, it seemed impossible. Had he actually grown slightly younger than when she left Metropolis to make a new life for herself with Oliver in Star City? Chloe attempted to confirm her suspicions by discerning just how old Clark looked to her. _Definitely _not _before Lana married Lex…but not after I got married the first time to Jimmy, either…maybe even before we got engaged… _But, try as she might, Chloe could not narrow down Clark's apparent age any further than that. How old was he now? A thousand years, give or take a decade or two? He looked nearly exactly the same—including that strangely out-of-place lock of hair dropping uncannily in the shape of an 'S' right in the middle of his forehead. Chloe scowled menacingly at it. It'd been bothering her since she woke up here. Actually, come to think of it, for much longer than that. She reached up to brush back the lock from his brow, but no sooner had she withdrawn her hand than the stubborn strands fell immediately back into place. Kal-El just chuckled and said, "Don't even bother."

"Do you know how many times I've wanted to Vaseline that thing to the top of your head? Or just cut it off with a pair of scissors? Why did your hair even start doing that after you became Superman? It never did that in high school, or after."

"I grew it that way on purpose—just to annoy you," Kal-El replied as his smile lost all pretense and became genuine.

Just as Chloe was about to break into another smile, she was suddenly aware of another set of eyes nearly boring into the two of them. Her gaze shifted away from Kal-El and centered on her son, who she sort of forgot was still there. Kal-El's focus, in turn, followed her altered line of sight until he too was looking at Connor. Like awkward teenagers, Kal-El and Chloe pulled away from each other, both dropping their gaze and then looking around aimlessly. Connor furrowed his eyebrows and looked back and forth between them. He then turned his head to focus intently on an empty space approximately three feet to his side. Finally, he momentarily turned back to Chloe and Kal-El and then moved to leave. As he exited the infirmary, only one thought was on Connor's mind: _Did I just witness my mother and my uncle _flirting _with each other?_

"Can we get out of here now, Clark?" Chloe asked at the end of her patience.

"Yes," Kal-El responded quickly. As she hopped out of bed to the floor, Kal-El continued, "We have a room set up for you right next to Connor's. It's just down the hall from Diana and J'onn and myself. And, the Legion's provided you with clothes to wear while you're here. Diana and I tried to get you a few things to fit your style."

"Great," Chloe said as she gathered her things, including Clark's flowers and card.

As Kal-El led Chloe out of the infirmary and to her quarters, the episode he'd experienced yesterday still weighed on his mind. So, he posed this question, "Chloe, let me ask you something. Uhm, how did you find out my secret?"

"What is this, a test? You think I'm not really Chloe, or something?" she responded, barely registering interest.

"It's important," Kal-El insisted.

Chloe looked at him and noticed his sincere expression. So, she answered honestly and directly, "Okay. It was senior year at Smallville High. And, Alicia Baker, whom you were sort of seeing at the time, kidnapped me and put us both in the front seat of a blue car. When she slammed the accelerator, I thought she'd gone psycho again and was going to kill us both…sorry."

Kal-El tacitly acknowledged her apology and bade her continue, "Go on."

"At the last minute, she whisked both of us out of there, and from a distance of approximately fifteen feet away, I watched you catch that car with your own bare hands as it flew straight at you at forty to sixty miles per hour? Sound right?" Chloe asked, more confused than unsure.

"Sounds exactly right," Kal-El confirmed. Then, he thought to himself, _Okay, so no time travel. What the heck happened, then? _The answer to that question would have to wait; they had arrived at Chloe's quarters. As the door slid open, Kal-El asked her, "So, after you're settled, do you want to start off with the tour?"

Chloe gave Kal-El a look of chagrin, "Come on, Clark, you know me. I don't want to waste time with a tour. I want to get to work. The world's waiting for us to save it. Let's get started!"

"Okay," Kal-El said ready to meet her eagerness with a challenge, "Be in the Kitchen in five minutes."

"I'm not hungry, Clark. I told you I wanted to—"

"Not _that_ kitchen."

Realization dawned on her and she said, "Oh. The Kitchen. Gotcha. Five minutes."

"Five minutes," Kal-El repeated and headed off in the opposite direction down the hall.

.

.

THUD. Kal-El looked down at his small, blonde-haired, female friend after she was once again felled by her opponent to the floor mattress. Seeing her frustration, he offered a word of encouragement, "Hey, don't feel bad. That time you lasted a whole thirty seconds." She just looked at him as if she were gauging whether or not his comment was for real.

"Help me up," she asked curtly.

Kal-El offered her an arm and pulled her to her feet. He gave her a look of sympathy to offset her embarrassment. Kal-El then looked over at her still-standing opponent—also a small, blonde-haired, female friend of his, but one that he has known for much, much longer. His heart swelled with pride as he congratulated her, "Excellent, Chloe. That makes three in a row. You certainly haven't lost your touch." She smiled and nodded her head at him in acknowledgement.

Imra Ardeen, still burned at having lost thrice to a woman a thousand years behind the times, tugged at Kal-El to regain his attention, "Hey, Superman. The only reason she beat me three out of three matches is because she's using _your_ superpowers."

"If Chloe really was using my super-strength, Saturn Girl, then your skull would be fractured, your neck broken, your spinal cord severed in at least three places, and your hip would be dislocated. Trust me, she's holding back and only because she doesn't want to permanently hurt anyone," Kal-El countered with absolute assuredness. He then lifted his eyes to the surrounding crowd.

The Kitchen—as everyone had begun to refer to it by now—was for the Legion exactly what it used to be for the Justice League, and then some: part gymnasium, part combat-training arena, and was outfitted with all the latest technology and equipment needed to simulate just about any battle scenario. It was a place to exercise, to play sports, to spar, to be trained in and improve one's skill at the use of weapons and hand-to-hand combat, and a place to go to if you weren't occupied with anything else. Kal-El thought it the natural place to begin Chloe's introduction to the Legion (and vice-versa). A little action might even help Chloe to shake off what she'd been through in the past few days. Imra was already there, so she volunteered to be Chloe's partner in a friendly bout between the two of them. It didn't take long for them to become the star attraction.

Several members of the Legion had gathered around the matt to watch the two women spar: one of their own founding and leading triumvirate vs. Kal-El's longtime friend and ally—a biographical fact regarding Chloe Sullivan that was made public knowledge to the Legion of Super-Heroes only very recently before her arrival in this century. This was the first real look any of them would have of Chloe, and understandably, they'd all been seized with curiosity. Some Legionnaires had looks of surprise, others of met expectation. But, whatever reservations any of them might have had before now, they all looked accepting of her now and willing to bring her into the fold.

Kal-El looked over the heads of those around to see Rokk Krinn enter with Connor Hawke. "Why don't you two take a break? I need to talk to Rokk," Kal-El suggested as he parted from them.

Diana, who had been observing from her place at the front of the assembly of onlookers approached Chloe and, like a coach or mentor, expressed her approval as well as a critique of her performance. Chloe's eyes drifted over toward Kal-El to observe him making his way through the crowd over to Rokk. She let out an unintentional sigh that caused Diana to stop midsentence and turn from Chloe to Kal-El and then back again. She waved her hand in front of Chloe's face. "Hey! You still with me, Chloe?" Diana admonished.

"Yeah, of course," Chloe grudgingly took her eyes from Kal-El and returned them attentively to Diana.

Meanwhile, Connor had come over to Imra. He made eye contact with his mother several feet away and they exchanged brief smiles. Imra commented, "Your mother's good."

"Yes, she is," Connor said factually and with pride.

"She's going to be a really big help to us. Kal-El, Diana, and J'onn think that the Legion has a real chance now," Imra continued.

Connor nodded in agreement, but as far as he was concerned the situation between both he and his mother and Kal-El, Diana, and J'onn was far from resolved. For one thing, they never did explain to him exactly why or how the police picked Chloe up, or why they were so interested in her, back in the Twenty-first Century. What exactly were they investigating and what did it have to do with his mother? What happened to push her past the breaking point and land her in Belle Reve in the first place? Connor wasn't used to being in the dark, and he wasn't used to his family withholding information from him. Sure, they were secretive, but not with him. And, now that Mom doesn't remember anything, he's still not going to get any answers any time soon. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, but it was frustrating to say the least.

"Speaking of…you want to tell to me how Brainiac came to be your head doctor in this place, or for that matter, the only doctor that I could see?"

"We know you don't like Brainiac _Five, _Connor," Imra said with overemphasis on the numerical distinction, "But, let me tell you. First off, he does a whole lot more around here than just play doctor. But, because he is so efficient at it, we all decided to move most of the Legion's medical personnel off-world. That way, they can respond more quickly in the field and prepare the rest of the galaxy for the coming onslaught from Apokolips. Something else you have to realize, Connor. I know it's easy to forget because we all look so human, but the Legion comprises dozens if not hundreds of species, and we can all be as different as you or your mother are from Kal-El. That's a lot of medical information to keep track of. Brainiac Five is a living machine made from Kryptonian technology. Not only can he store and immediately access the complete medical database of every planet that's part of the Legion, but he can instantly make use of it in treating a patient. As a machine, he is far more precise and careful in his diagnoses and ability to operate than the greatest humanoid surgeon. There is also his unique talent at being able to get inside a person's mind and body with minimal invasiveness. And, because he can replicate himself any number of times at once, he is his own complete medical, surgical team that can work in tandem and near-absolute unison on even multiple patients simultaneously."

"Okay, I'm sold. Just as long as Mecha-wonder doesn't short circuit."

Imra shook her head and said, "Unlikely."

By this time, Kal-El had reached Rokk Krinn, and they gave each other a nod in friendly greeting. "How's our new recruit working out?" Rokk inquired.

"So far, better than we could have hoped," Kal-El replied, satisfied with how events were thus proceeding. "No thanks to you," he added.

"What does that mean?" Rokk questioned in a way that betrayed his growing weariness at Kal-El's recriminations.

"It means that until now I haven't had the chance to tell you that your Legion Code made the mission to bring Chloe and Connor here at least five times harder than it had to be."

"Kal-El, we've already been through this. Those rules exist for a reason. You're lucky the rest of the Legion sanctioned the mission at all. Do you remember the first time you met us? How that fight with the Persuader in the Kents' barn changed how Brainiac's eventual defeat would play out? How we all inadvertently altered history in such a way that it led to your death at the hands of Doomsday? You can't imagine the state that the world we returned to was in. A world without Superman—without Kal-El. That's why I came back alone, you know, the second time to set things right. I intentionally left Imra and Garth behind so that if I failed, they could come back and try again themselves." Rokk entreated, "Look, they're here, Kal-El. They're both here. Can we please move past this and get on to saving the galaxy?"

"You're right," Kal-El conceded.

Chloe spent the rest of the day meeting many of the Legionnaires who were assigned to Earth and/or happened to be present at Legion Headquarters, catching up a bit on the history of the last thousand years, and finally taking that tour of the place Kal-El insisted on. Chloe suspected that Clark just wanted to get her alone, and they did talk quite a bit as they visited just about every floor and section of the place. She didn't want to overestimate her own importance in Clark's life, but he seemed like he had truly missed her and in a way that far exceeded anything she would have expected, especially after a millennium-long absence. Oh well, she would have plenty of time to sort out her perspective on things in the near future. They'd come to the end of the day, and Clark was now escorting Chloe down the corridor back to her room.

"So, when exactly did the Legion of Super-Heroes adopt the jargon of the Justice League of America?" Chloe asked Kal-El with a grin and raised eyebrows.

"You mean, like calling the combat-sim center the 'Kitchen?'" Kal-El sought specification. Chloe just turned away from him coyly to look down the hall ahead of them. "Probably about a month after J'onn, Diana, and I arrived here to start working with them," Kal-El answered, "It's kind of funny in a way. The squad of Legionnaires permanently assigned to Earth? They privately, unofficially refer to themselves as the New Justice League or the Justice League Reformed. I guess we've had a major impact on them. They really see themselves as the legitimate heirs and successors to what we started all that time ago. With the three of us…and now you…on board, it's only validated it even more in their minds."

"Maybe they're right," Chloe submitted.

"Maybe," Kal-El accepted.

Chloe turned her head sideways to view Clark next to her as he continued facing straight on ahead. As they made their way down the corridor, she looked him up and down several times carefully, deliberately; and although she's known this Clark from the future only for less than two days, she already began drawing mental comparisons between this Clark and the one she'd become accustomed to in the past. In many ways he was the same, but in other ways that really mattered he seemed so different. The way he carried himself, for instance. With a confidence that was both quiet but total and with a kind of masculine grace to his every movement. He seemed regal and humble at the same time, meek yet supremely strong. As though he could move the planet and the stars themselves but wouldn't lift his hand to flit away an annoying insect. The power he could call up by sheer command but would keep fully in check until it was necessary to use. And, God help the one he'd use it against because no one else would. Wisdom and knowledge of not just years but multiple lifetimes shone through his eyes, but he did not seem weighted under them, at least not that Chloe could see. There was still a child-like innocence to him, a wide-eyed wonder at the simplest things that Chloe could still definitely sense beneath his steely exterior. Chloe got a taste of this long ago, but Clark had really worked on it. Either he'd perfected the image of Superman that the public needed to see, or he had fully integrated the role of Superman into the persona of Clark Kent…or Kal-El. Whichever. And, this seemingly complete contradiction that was the man at her side ignited in her an equal contradiction in her own conflicted feelings. She liked this new Clark—_a lot. _But, he seemed so far from the one that she knew so well, that she had known better than anyone, all those years ago.

"Well, here we are," Kal-El informed. Chloe looked up just as the door to her quarters automatically slid open. Chloe looked demurely up at Clark and stepped into the doorway. Kal-El placed her hand on her arm and gently bade her turn around before she could step all the way into her room. "Chloe…" Kal-El said quietly, gently. She looked up at him expectantly. He took a moment to get the words out but finally said, "…I just want you to know how glad I am that you and Connor are here with us. That you agreed to stay. That we're doing this together."

Chloe nodded and agreed, "So am I." She considered the 'S'-shield that was in full view in front of her, big as life, on Clark's shirt. Absently, she lifted her finger and with it lazily traced the path of the 'S' across his chest. Kal-El's skin immediately grew highly sensitized in response to her touch through the fabric. When it reached the end of its swirling, twisting trail, Chloe took back her hand and offered simply, "Goodnight, Clark."

"Goodnight, Chloe," Kal-El returned. And, with that, Chloe turned and retreated into her quarters.

As she took a few steps across the floor, she suddenly froze as an ominous, somehow threatening image flashed in her mind's eye: Darkness…then a lightning flash that partially illuminated a figure cloaked in shadow holding an automatic firearm…No, not one—three. Chloe's heart began palpitating in her breast, she began hyperventilating, and her thoughts scattered. Another flash…lightning…she was staring down the barrel of a gun…and she was holding someone in her arms. Somehow, her mind was able to seize upon a single thought and she fought to give it voice as she cried out, "Clark…Clark!…CLARK!"

In a micro-second, Kal-El had dashed from halfway down the hall right to her side and asked in alarm, "Chloe, what's wrong? What's wrong!" He reached out to steady Chloe's wavering body, but she stumbled away from him and landed on a small table where she'd placed the flowers that Clark had given her in the hospital. She knocked the vase clear off the table spilling the tulips and water across the floor.

As her eyes captured the sight of the red tulips and spilt water another flashback burst in her memory: Blood…dark-red blood…running down the ground…running down with water…rain water. "Oh, my God!" Chloe cried out. The green stems of the soft flowers loosened another piece of the memory: Green…she could see green in her lap—in her arms…it was…"Oliver…" Chloe whispered aloud. And the image became fully formed and clear: Oliver Queen in his Green Arrow outfit very still and cold and bleeding…on her hands…on the street…so much blood.

Kal-El picked Chloe up in his arms, standing her up on her feet, and was about to say something, but seeing her look struck him dumb. Her face was one of mad fright—of sheer terror. "Chloe, say something," Kal-El desperately tried, "What's—"

"I remember," Chloe said in the barest of whispers, and then she shouted out grief-stricken, "Oh, God! He's dead! He's dead!" As she fell into Kal-El's arms, her face tightened into a grimace and the tears came streaming in torrents from her eyes down the sides of her face. She labored to draw in breath through her sobs and finally let out, amidst her sobbing, in a voice rent with agony and twisted pain, "Nooooo!...O-LI-VERRR!" She struggled to get away from Kal-El, but he only pulled her to him harder. She began thrashing and writhing and pounding away at his chest with clenched fists and arms, but despite the fact that she was hitting him with his own super-strength, he would not let go and held her fast to him. He backed up against the nearest wall and slid down it to the floor, pulling Chloe down with him. As she stopped fighting him, Chloe's body collapsed into a quivering mass of sobs and cries for her long-dead husband and seemingly endless tears. But, Kal-El would not let her go. He said nothing, but he would not let go. He held her to him, stroked her hair, caressed her body, offering to her what he could of his consoling presence. And, he kept her in his embrace and did not leave her all the endless hours of that long, dark night.

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**A/N: **It's good to be back, and I want to reassure any of the disheartened that I did not stop writing this story since the last update, I simply stopped writing what happens _next_. Inspiration must be heeded, even when it does not involve the immediate future. Then, I thought, why not give a sneak-peak to you, the reader, at what is coming down the road in the future? So, in the spirit of fore-telling what awaits us on the paths not yet taken, i.e. SPOILERS, I decided to offer the chance to anyone who so desires a preview of things to come. One need only check out my profile. And, to anyone out there here in the States, Happy Thanksgiving.


	10. Chapter 10: Past Imperfect

**A/N: **So, my New Year's resolution is to get these story updates out on a much more regular and timely basis. I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Blessed Solstice, whatever you celebrate. And, Happy New Year 2013 to all. Now for the next installment...

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Chapter 10: Past Imperfect

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_Why didn't you tell me about this before? _(Clark Kent)  
_We wanted to protect you. _(Jonathan Kent)  
_Protect me from what?! You should've told me! _(Clark)  
– from _Pilot_

.

"And this?" Connor asked, running his fingers over the last of the cycle's instruments.

"That's the proximity sensor alert and guidance system," Imra pointed out, "When it activates, a collision warning with spatial indicators will appear here, displayed on the inside surface of the windshield. However, when you're moving at one hundred-fifty to two hundred miles per hour, human reflexes aren't typically fast enough to react to a potential collision. If the driver fails to respond in time when it goes off, the automatic directional override kicks in and steers the vehicle away from the oncoming object or sudden turn in the road. It cannot be deactivated—safety precaution—and you don't want to turn it off anyway. Traffic accidents these days are extremely rare all over the world, and every time one happens it was because the override system failed or some fool found a way to shut it down and did so on purpose. I assume you're no fool, Connor." He just gave her a sly smile and placed over his head the helmet he'd been casually holding under his arm at his side.

Morning had dawned over Legion Headquarters a couple of hours ago, and Imra Ardeen had found Connor Hawke already up and wandering the halls of the citadel. Whether it was due to culture shock at being plunged into the 31st Century without warning or to having to spend the last week or so indoors, Connor had become very restless. So, Imra took it upon herself to give her new friend something constructive to do. They'd just spent the last hour in the ground floor hangar bay of Legion HQ as Imra instructed Connor in the use of several of the Legion's standard vehicles. Connor had shown greatest interest in what he thought of as the Legion's futuristic motorcycles. Imra had to explain to him that people of that era drop the "motor" part of the word since it implies petroleum combustion. Fossil fuels were a thing of the past. The cycle's power cells were energized with a safe, useful byproduct derived from nuclear fusion. As the orientation concluded, Imra—impressed by Connor's ability to quickly grasp what she'd been teaching him, but still skeptical of his dismissive, bordering-on-arrogance confidence—asked him, "You got all that? You're sure you're ready for this?"

"They're not all _that_ different from the bikes I'm used to riding, Saturn Girl. You'd think technology would've advanced more in a thousand years. These things don't even fly," Connor criticized disappointedly as he fastened the cord underneath his chin and slid the visor down over his face.

"Yes, they do. That's lesson number two," Imra countered with a dismissive tone of her own as she turned around sharply and approached the cycle directly next to Connor's. Lifting her leg over the cycle, she straddled the vehicle and settled into the seat.

In wonderment, Connor looked down at the ground to his left and then his right past his legs already straddled over the seat of his cycle. He called over to Imra, "No kickstand?"

As she put her helmet on and secured it over her head, Imra scoffed, "These cycles use subtle electromagnetic fields to counteract gravity and remain perfectly upright, even when not in use. You were saying about our lack of technological advancement since your time?" Connor, perhaps wisely, elected not to respond to that.

The two youths' movements were in near-perfect synchronization as they each lifted their knees and settled both of their feet onto the footrests affixed at the sides of their respective mounts. They both activated their cycles, and the machines came alive beneath them: Data displays lit up the windshields, lights both decorative and functional blazed brightly across the streamlined contours and vehicle surfaces, and the engines with anticipation began their revolutions. Imra reached down and pressed an illuminated control switch on her dashboard console, and the hangar bay doors slid open in response.

"Any last questions?" came Imra's mechanized voice through Connor's helmet radio communicator.

"Yeah," Connor answered, "If your Legion rings give the power of flight to anyone who wears one, what do you need modes of transportation like these for?"

"The windshield will extend over your head and past your shoulders once we're in motion," Imra replied, "Just make sure you keep your whole upper body underneath it _at all times. _Even with your biker suit and the safety harness, sheer forces _will_ blow you right off your cycle if you don't stay down."

"I guess people like living on the edge in the future, don't they? I like that," the equally mechanized voice of Connor transmitted over Imra's helmet radio. With that, the twin vehicles zoomed out of the hangar bay accelerating to ever higher velocities as both Connor Hawke and Imra Ardeen left the Legion citadel far behind them.

.

.

Kal-El looked down at his best friend still resting in his embrace. Even though she'd been bestowed with the full range of his powers and abilities, she seemed so fragile to him in her current state. With great empathy, Kal-El lowered his lips to Chloe's ear and very gently, quietly whispered the words, "I'm sorry, Chloe…I'm so sorry."

Kal-El hadn't left Chloe's quarters all night. In fact, he hadn't left her side all night. They just lay there on the floor against the wall near the door. She'd cried and sobbed and wailed for hours, and every sound cut him to the heart. In all the time he'd spent as Superman, he'd come to realize that there was at least one constant limitation on him—one thing that all his extraordinary abilities could not do: take away the pain. That required a far greater ability, a far more extraordinary power, than what a yellow sun granted to a Kryptonian.

Chloe had finally cried herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning not long before dawn. But, she wasn't sleeping anymore. She'd actually been awake for awhile; she just couldn't find the strength to move. As far as Kal-El was concerned, it didn't matter. He was perfectly willing to let Chloe rest for as long as she needed to, forever if necessary. It was the least he could do. Nevertheless, Chloe didn't need to any longer, and she didn't want to. Kal-El opened his arms as Chloe stirred from him and braced against his shoulders to lift herself up. Kal-El followed, and when they both were standing on their feet, he asked her, "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine, Clark," Chloe responded quietly, unconvincingly, looking away, "I'm just a bit stiff. I hurt all over from spending the night on the floor. Not getting any sleep doesn't help any."

Kal-El walked around and stood in front of Chloe. For a moment, he watched her looking back up at him with eyes that were puffy and bloodshot from tears and lack of sleep. Then, he got an idea. Chancing a cautious smile, he told her, "I think I know something that will make you feel better. Come here." He took her by the hand and led her to the far end of her quarters where the wall was concealed behind extensive drapery. Kal-El let go of Chloe and pulled back the curtains to reveal a magnificent sight.

The 31st-century Metropolis skyline met their eyes. Edifices seemingly made of silver and ivory that were taller than any skyscraper Chloe had ever seen in her life scaled the atmosphere to brush the sky. Transports and other vehicles darted at frightening speed through the air and across the elevated and surface streets far below. Beyond the limits of the urban collective, the countryside—green, alive, immaculate—seemed to roll unobstructed in every direction. The one exception was the waterfront, where green was replaced by pristine blue, and in place of meadow and pasture was the rolling of waves. The area above the distant horizon was dominated by a bright-blue canvas inhabited by cumulus clouds of purest white that sailed along without a care. And, crowning the whole of the scene was the newly risen Sun, pouring forth warmth and light, and blanketing everywhere below it with a golden luster that danced across every reflective surface. The crystalline waters that had caught Chloe's eye were gilded with an aurulent runway from which Sol had launched skyward and continued his ascent overhead. As the waves crested underneath, every flash and glint seemed to be a wink in salute to Chloe's arrival. All was a harmony of industrialization and nature—a mutually beneficial co-existence of the man-made and the earth-given. And, that stunning view was only the beginning.

Solar radiance spilled through the vast transparency that made up much of the wall and washed over Kal-El and Chloe. She felt a rush of exhilaration quite unlike anything she'd ever felt before filling up every fiber of her as the Sun's life-giving rays caressed her and him gently, lovingly, revitalizing and restoring them both to full strength and health. Kal-El released the shades that formerly veiled the window and glanced over at Chloe. Momentarily forgetting herself and the tragic circumstances that had invaded her life, she allowed a brilliant smile to slowly grace her face once again. Standing there bathed in the daylight of morning exactly like that, Chloe seemed to Kal-El like an angel no less glorious than anything he'd ever seen carved in stone or painted in vibrant color. Seeing this vision of her and her reaction to what he'd shown her filled him with a sense of grateful satisfaction at their decision to give Chloe a room located right on the east façade of the Legion Tower.

Hesitant at first, Chloe finally spoke up, "Clark, the Sun…I feel…I can't describe what I feel."

Kal-El concurred, "Amazing, isn't it?"

"It's incredible," Chloe answered, referring as much to the view of Metropolis as to the effect Earth's Sun was having on her.

Preferring the sight of Chloe to that of the city, Kal-El verified, "You were born in Metropolis, weren't you?"

Chloe nodded in response to Kal-El's inquiry, "Yes, and lived much of my life here."

Turning back to the view outside Chloe's window, he said to her, "Welcome home, Chloe Sullivan…to the City of Tomorrow."

A long moment of silence passed between them before Kal-El spoke next. "Another twenty minutes of this and you'll be good as new," he said as he pointed out the window toward the Sun. As he turned around and headed toward the door, Kal-El continued, "I'll leave you alone to shower and get dressed. We can meet up later in the dining hall for breakfast and maybe, then, we can—"

"Why weren't you there, Clark?"

Chloe's words compelled Kal-El to stop dead in his tracks. He had been dreading those words, that question, this moment since he saw Chloe again at Belle Reve. Yet, the question was not accusatory in nature the way Kal-El might have been expecting; not a hint of rage or trace of anger could be found in her voice. It was worse. Her tone betrayed deep sadness and bitter disappointment. Kal-El let out a profound sigh that emanated from his very soul. Somehow, he knew she had turned her back to the window and was now looking straight at him. Steeling himself with as much of a reserve of courage as he could muster, Kal-El turned around to confront a despondent Chloe who only a moment ago had been so full of life and brimming with beauty.

"I don't know," was all he could say. To make all this worse, he didn't even have a good answer for her.

"You don't know?" Chloe repeated in abject disbelief.

"I don't even remember that night," Kal-El answered honestly but ashamed, "I don't know if I was working late at the _Planet, _or on a date with Lois, or dealing with an earthquake in Africa, or trying to stop a volcanic eruption in the Pacific, or taking down Lex Luthor for the two-hundred-and-fiftieth time."

He searched her features for some sign of hope. Her face was expressionless but for her eyes, which communicated all of the anguish and heartbreak and misery that she wouldn't allow to surface otherwise. It was as if Chloe preferred outward desolation to the turmoil going on inside of her. "All I remember is that I wasn't where I was most needed. Where I should have been. I'm sorry, Chloe," he managed weakly.

Chloe turned away from Kal-El back to the view of Metropolis and said almost to herself, "I'm sure you were."

"Pardon me?" Kal-El responded.

"Where you needed to be," Chloe explained, her eyes returning to his, "You always are, Clark. I told you before that if you ever had to make a choice that I hoped you would always do the right thing—for everyone and not just for me. Oliver felt exactly the same way. I know if you at all could have been there, you would have been." She still put such faith in him, even now. Kal-El wasn't as certain that faith was warranted. And he could tell that despite the assuredness of her words, Chloe's feelings were far more conflicted than her apparent stoicism let on.

This was hardly the note that Kal-El wanted to leave on, but he decided he'd rather make himself scarce before he made more of a mess of things than he had already. Chloe, however, wasn't prepared to let him go just yet. As he turned away and began shuffling off toward the door again, she quickly turned to directly face him and called after him, "It was Belle Reve, wasn't it? What I was remembering after I first woke up?"

Kal-El paused and with his back to her reluctantly nodded. Chloe took a few, careful steps toward him, saying as she went, "That's why I snapped. Watching Oliver die was what finally drove me over the edge, wasn't it?"

"Chloe…" Kal-El said, shaking his head, after turning around back toward her. His face was one of painful empathy and regretful sorrow. He looked as if all he wanted to do was throw himself between her and all the suffering of that moment.

"Just tell me one thing, Clark. What happened after Oliver was murdered? Did you ever find who attacked us? Who were those three men? What did they want?" Chloe asked. When Kal-El did not respond right away, she stepped toward him again, this time quickly with deliberate intent. "_Please_ tell me, Clark," she pleaded, "I _need_ to know."

With continued reluctance, Kal-El revealed, "We…suspect…that they were members of Checkmate. We're not quite sure what their motives were exactly. But, they did kidnap him in the past—no pun intended—and try to force him to work for them. They also had a lot of history, particularly when you take into account Oliver's relationship to Tess Mercer. And, they almost killed him at least once before that night."

"That's it?" Chloe asked astonished. Kal-El just opened his mouth as if to say something and looked guiltily away. Underwhelmed by the revelation, Chloe added, "Sounds like you guys are 'not quite sure' about a lot of things. Tess Mercer was long since dead. Checkmate didn't even exist anymore. What made you think _they_ were involved?"

"Because when we finally did catch up to who took out Green Arrow, the only body out of the trio we could identify belonged to Maxwell Lord," Kal-El explained insistently.

"Max…Lord?" Chloe repeated, nonplussed.

"What was left of him, anyway, and the other two he had with him," Kal-El corrected.

"They were already dead by the time you found them?" Chloe inferred.

"After that, the trail went completely cold. And, we put both Bruce and J'onn on it. By themselves, they're formidable investigators. Together, nobody is better—you know that. And, all they ever found were those three bodies. Not to mention the fact that they were so badly mangled that only one could even be identified—barely," Kal-El finished.

"Then, how could you even know they were the assassins?" Chloe asked dubiously.

"J'onn knew," Kal-El answered simply.

"'J'onn knew'?" Chloe echoed, "How?"

"I don't know how. Something about psychic residuals emanating off of the bodies that he claims matched the ones coming from Oliver's corpse," Kal-El attempted to explain, hoping he was making more sense to Chloe than he was to himself, "Look, even though, apparently, Kryptonians do have them, I never did master telepathy or psychic powers or even really understand them—much less the way they work with other people not from Earth. If you want to, go talk to J'onn. I'm sure he can explain it better himself. But, I can tell you that he was dead certain…I mean…he was…"

"I get it," Chloe said. Still dissatisfied with the lack of resolution over the whole matter, she added, "At least justice was done for Oliver."

"Trust me, it was," Kal-El confidently reassured, "Whoever they were that attacked you and killed Oliver, it looked like they had been through a grizzly bear attack or something." He didn't want to push her, but they were already on the subject. "Now, let me ask you a question, Chloe," Kal-El plainly said. He didn't want to have to ask this question, but he knew he had to. "What happened that night? What were you both doing there in the first place? What was Oliver doing as the Green Arrow—and what the _hell_ were you doing in harm's way with him?"

"It wasn't supposed to be like that! There was no reason for anything like that to happen that night!" Chloe shot back in anger. Kal-El dropped his head as if rebuked and cautiously lifted his eyes alone back to hers. She guiltily looked down and away for a moment and tried to quell her emotional outburst with a sigh. Then, returning her own gaze to Kal-El's, she continued as calmly as she could, "Oliver was out on patrol that night, that's it. He wanted to work off some stress as his heroic alter ego. I chose to go after him to cover the story of Green Arrow's return to Metropolis for the _Star City Register—_maybe submit a copy to the _Daily Planet, _also. Two goons in suits literally came out of nowhere and just opened fire on us! And, Oliver still had the situation in hand, until Man In Black Number Three who neither of us knew was there took a shot right at me. When that happened, Oliver…he…"

Kal-El moved in immediately and took Chloe tightly into his arms. She buried her head in his broad chest and closed her eyes while raising her palms to rest there also on either side of her just beneath his wide shoulders. Kal-El laid the side of his head down to rest on the top of hers. "Shhhhh…" he tried to soothe her.

"It's my fault he's dead!" Chloe cried out after taking in a broken gasp of air, "If I hadn't been there with him…if Oliver hadn't been trying to protect me—"

"No!" Kal-El declared loudly and defiantly. Then, gently he continued, "Chloe, I'm the one here who has to take on the guilt for everyone we can't save, not you! It wasn't your fault. Don't ever think that. Not ever!" In emphasis of the point he'd just made, Kal-El lifted his head from the top of hers and turned just enough to gently plant a soft kiss amidst the effluence of golden strands there. He quickly laid his head back down in place and gently rocked Chloe back and forth in his arms, swaying her slightly from side to side, to comfort her. When he finally picked his head up from hers again, she happened to look up at him at the same time. Their eyes met and their gazes locked. As they once again began piercingly to search one another out, Kal-El painfully observed the haunted look exhibited in Chloe's eyes.

Were those beautiful, green orbs precious emeralds or were they kryptonite? They could be soothing, revitalizing, reassuring, life-giving. But, they could just as easily be as lethal to Kal-El's soul as any meteor rock that fell from Krypton was to his body. A tear or a sob—one look of anger or of disappointment or sorrow—and those eyes could cut through the exterior of the Man of Steel right to his heart like a hot blade through butter every time.

Kal-El let his eyes fall until they rested on those soft, warm, inviting, desirable lips of hers. They were barely a breath away from his. His downward glance lasted just long enough for him to see how close they were before quickly returning them to her eyes. Chloe must have seen him steal a look, but she didn't flinch or withdraw from him or move in the slightest way. Kal-El knew he had to make a move, now—either back off and let this moment go or take his shot right there and then. Seemingly before he even willed it, Kal-El quickly captured Chloe's lips with his own in a firm but tender kiss.

It began as a soft brush of the lips. He was being cautious at first, testing Chloe, not wanting to force this but allowing her the opportunity to welcome it or reject it. When she didn't pull away—or slap him—he felt emboldened enough to engage her fully. But, even as Kal-El stepped up the passion, he didn't receive the same feedback from her. He cupped her head in both his hands and spread his mouth over hers completely in an attempt to elicit something from her, but it was no use. Chloe was unresponsive, neither surrendering to Kal-El's advances nor resisting them. Choosing again to err on the side of caution, he withdrew his lips from hers slowly, deliberately. With an affectionate brush of his fingers against her earlobes followed by a soft caress of her jawline with his palms, Kal-El finally withdrew his hands from Chloe's face, as well. When his own eyes caught hers again, he held them fixed, immovable upon hers. Outwardly, he did not want to convey even a hint of regret or remorse nor betray any malfeasance or transgression in what they'd just done. Inwardly, however, he couldn't help but question the wisdom of his actions and what was going on in her mind right then.

Her eyes told Kal-El nothing as Chloe casually stepped back from him and informed him, "I should get ready, now. I guess I'll see you later, Clark." Then, she retreated unhurriedly to the bath. He watched her go for a moment before showing himself out into the hall, hoping that he hadn't made an irrevocable mistake with the woman who he no longer could deny to himself was coming to mean more than a best friend to him.

.

.

_Several weeks later…_

Nearly a month went by and nothing else happened between Kal-El and Chloe. In fact, either of them had yet to even bring up the topic of that day again. Kal-El was unwilling to be the one to raise the issue, and Chloe seemed content to pretend what had happened in her quarters that morning didn't. So, they both got on with work as if everything was normal between them, even though things were far from it—for both of them.

Chloe went about busying herself with the open-ended, non-specific duty of "mentoring the Legion." It was pretty slow-going, at first. Before you can help someone with their issues, you have to know them well enough to have an idea of what they are. Then, they have to trust you enough to let themselves be helped by you. Developing a relationship with these people and getting them to open up to her was going to be daunting enough without the added time factor of the days counting down until Apokolips arrived at Earth. Fortunately, she had an extra ace up her sleeve.

The Legion knew that Chloe Sullivan was Kal-El's closest friend during those critical years leading up to when he officially became Superman, and that's all they knew about her. She was a total mystery, otherwise, just like everything else about Kal-El's ante-superhero days. And, some members of the Legion were quite curious and eager to find out what they could about both of their latest new colleagues: the living legend, himself, and the one who helped him to achieve that status. She hoped to turn that to her advantage, and it seemed to be working, so far.

Nevertheless, Kal-El saw this in a slightly different light. Chloe may be going about her task aggressively and with as much diligence as he would've expected from her, but she seemed to him to be burying herself in work again. It was as if she was using mentoring as a shield against having to face the pain of losing Oliver, in much the same way she used her position as Watchtower to escape the pain of having lost Jimmy Olsen. Kal-El was sure this wasn't the last that they would hear from the ghost of Oliver Queen, either. He knew Chloe too well for that, even after all this time. Far from offering her closure, their conversation about what followed his demise would only fuel her concerns about the past.

In the meantime, Kal-El and Chloe had developed a daily routine that would begin with meeting for breakfast along with Diana and J'onn. Over their meal, they would discuss and plan whatever needed to be: progress reports, the status of Apokolips' journey across the galaxy and that of the Legion's various outposts and planets where they held a presence, the ongoing missions of the Legion and how they were preparing to thwart their impending doom, etc. Afterwards, they would split up to get to work on whatever each of them was doing. They each also made it a point of trying to meet together for lunch and/or dinner whenever possible, and they didn't always take their meals in the commissary. Sometimes they would venture out into Metropolis, but when they did, Chloe did not seem nearly as enthused about seeing all that the city and the future offered as Kal-El and the others would expect. It's as though she had shut down and was operating on a functional level only. They encouraged her to take time, even seek help, in dealing with this latest development in her life, but ultimately it was her choice to do this her way. But, it was worrying Kal-El sick. He was desperately concerned for her. So desperately that his anxiety was interfering with the digestive process. It didn't help that today they were taking in lunch at Legion HQ.

"So, how are things going?" Kal-El inquired in an upbeat manner. His chipper attitude may be artificial, but his interest was not.

"I think I'm already starting to make some progress with a few of them," Chloe replied, with a note of optimism.

"Who are your best prospects, so far?" Kal-El continued.

"Let's see. Uhm…Triplicate Girl, Phantom Girl, Chameleon Boy, and Colossal Boy," Chloe replied, straining her brain to keep their names straight.

"Are you sure it wasn't Ultra Boy?" J'onn questioned with a smirk.

"Which one is best friends with Reep Daggle?" Chloe asked a bit frustrated.

"Gim Allon," Kal-El answered glaring a bit at the Manhunter. His expression softened as he reassured Chloe, "You were right, Colossal Boy."

"What?" the Martian Manhunter asked innocently under the imposing gaze of the Last Son of Krypton, "I like Reep Daggle—shapeshifter, exceptional detective skills—an alien after my own heart."

"We don't expect you to counsel the _entire _Legion, you know, Chloe. We never did," Diana encouraged, "If you can just turn around the higher-ups, the leaders, the most respected members, we're certain that that alone will have a profound effect across the whole Legion."

"For awhile all they wanted to do was talk about you," Chloe informed, looking at Kal-El as she spoke, "To know everything about the days of yore when Clark Kent was all there was and Superman wasn't even a gleam in anyone's eye. You know, they were amazed that you didn't even find out your real name until you met Dr. Virgil Swann. I tried explaining to them that Clark Kent _is_ your real name, and so is Kal-El—that you're both people, and they're both you. Doesn't seem to get through to them."

"Keep trying. They might even understand that someday," Kal-El remarked, more to himself than to Chloe or the others.

Kal-El's eyes turned downward to his plate, and he began fiddling with his food while Chloe observed him steadily. For really the first time, she was hit with the realization of a thousand years and all that that meant; and she truly began to wonder what it must have been like for him, the unseen burden of what all that must have brought with it, what was going on in his head right now…

Suddenly, so much of what Clark had done and the whole way he'd been acting since she arrived took on a whole new meaning. Even the kiss they had shared in her quarters weeks ago that had taken her completely by surprise and had left her completely dumbfounded, the one that she would have had no idea how to react to even if she had not been shattered emotionally and exhausted physically, the one that she had been ignoring and dismissing and trying so hard to put out of her mind. Even that—especially that—now claimed new significance. Maybe…_Don't even go there, Chloe Sullivan. You didn't have the emotional strength or wherewithal to deal with it as it was happening then, and you still don't. This is all still too new and shocking—all of it. The last thing you need is to complicate this situation any further, for your sake and for his and for Connor's and…oh God, Connor! _Her eyes widened as her thoughts focused again on her son, whom she loved more than anything. With horror and despair at how she could possibly tell him, her face collapsed into her hands as her eyes began to well up.

"Chloe?" Kal-El spoke softly with genuine concern. She said nothing to him.

Meanwhile, the same Connor Hawke whom Chloe Sullivan suddenly felt such anxiety over was similarly developing a daily routine of his own. While this did include meeting with his mother and Clark, Diana, and J'onn over dinner several times a week, he actually chose to take most of his meals with the top three Legionnaires to whom he was getting closer. He worked with them, learned from them, trained with them, and hung out with them when they were off duty. Other than the facts that Connor was their guest and that they were all more-or-less the same age, each of the Legionnaires had their own reasons to build a relationship with him.

From his arrival, Imra Ardeen had been quite taken with Connor, and he had clearly expressed interest in her on more than one occasion. She had for her part, however, always found a reason to rebuff his advances—whether that was due to her relationship to Garth Ranzz which had recently taken a more serious turn between them and was growing more so as time progressed, or because she questioned Connor's own seriousness and intentions toward her, or simply because his future was not this future, this time, this century and therefore they had no future possible together. Even so, her rejections were never disdainful toward him or, Connor sensed, whole-heartedly resolute. Therefore, he remained undiscouraged. Just once he'd like to turn the telepathic tables on Imra and peer inside _her_ mind, read _her_ thoughts, know what _she_ was really thinking whenever she shot him down. Either way, he knew she cared about him and that she wanted to help him.

Rokk Krinn's interest with Connor was practical. Initially against bringing anyone at all other than Chloe Sullivan a millennium into the future, Rokk had become pragmatic regarding Connor's presence. After all, as the son of the original Watchtower and the Green Arrow, as well as a close if surrogate relation to Kal-El, Diana, and J'onn, Connor had the potential to be a fine ally and great asset in the coming conflict with Darkseid. As long as he was there anyway, Rokk would do what he could to make sure that Connor fulfilled that potential when the time came. The Legion would need every resource available to it.

Garth Ranzz saw Connor Hawke as the long-awaited answer to his avid curiosity about all the legends of the past that the Legion had been raised on. He had been there while history was being made witnessing it as it happened, and he'd been intimately connected to the very people that were the history-makers and the future-builders. I mean, Kal-El's own nephew! And Diana's and J'onn's! Whenever the opportunity presented itself, Garth would try to mine Connor for as much information as he could get out of him—about Kal-El, about Chloe, about Diana and J'onn and the Justice League, even about Darkseid. Of course, his favorite subject would perennially be Superman. Getting his daily dose of firsthand accounts of "The Adventures of the Big, Blue Boy Scout—the Early Years" made Garth's millennium.

Today's topic of intense interrogation in the round over lunch was the exact nature of Kal-El's relationship to Chloe. For someone they'd never heard of before that momentous meeting with Kal-El for the first time in the Kent barn back in the 21st Century, she sure seemed important to him. _At least as important as Lana Lang or Lois Lane…_Garth could still feel the bruises that Kal-El had left in his arms and shoulders. How did they meet? How long did they know one another? How did they become such close friends? Were they _just_ friends? Were they ever, had they ever been, was there ever a chance that they could have been, or perhaps were going to be, lovers or more? If so, why hadn't anyone heard of her? If not, then why not? They seemed so close; how much did they really mean to each other? How many times had he saved her? How many times had she saved him? Garth Ranzz was an unemptiable abyss of inquisitiveness, and quite frankly it had been getting on Connor's nerves for some time.

"Garth, do we really have to do this, again, today?" Connor pleaded, weary of their daily Q&A sessions.

"Oh, come on, Connor!" Garth urged.

Connor resignedly let out a sigh and allowed his eyelids to close. He was just glad that Mom and the others had finished with their own meal and were done talking shop before he and the Legionnaires arrived to do the same. It would have been embarrassing all around for him to have to talk about them while they were sitting right across the way. He paused only a moment more before answering, "Clark Kent and Chloe Sullivan were both thirteen when they met. My grandfather Gabe Sullivan had just moved from Metropolis to Smallville with his daughter to begin managing operations at the LuthorCorp fertilizer plant. Uncle Clark had been assigned to my mom as her orientation facilitator during her first week at school." He then, with as much patience as he could muster, related how after school, Clark took Chloe up to his original Fortress of Solitude that was his barn loft; replaced her favorite, beloved book _Tales of the Weird & Unexplained _which had been lost in the move from Metropolis to Smallville; and received as a reward his very first kiss from a girl.

At Garth's insistent behest, Connor then began to expound the highlights of their relationship: Their quickly becoming good friends, the unveiling of the Wall of Weird, their all-too-brief courtship at the end of freshmen year (he discreetly left out the unfortunate friction that arose between them over Clark's adoption and Lana Lang and Chloe's subsequent, regrettable, not-brief-enough collusion with Lionel Luthor). Connor continued with how she'd found Clark in Metropolis the following summer and helped to bring him home, how her "death" after entering witness protection brought her cousin Lois Lane to Smallville for the first time, how she found out Clark's secret (again) and made it her personal cause to aid him in his derring-do's, the second meteor shower and how Chloe came to be the first—and for a time—only human to set foot in the true Fortress of Solitude and probably was its most frequent visitor other than Kal-El himself, their becoming full partners-in-crime at stopping crime and saving the world. Connor hoped that Garth would be satiated for the day after he told the story of how Chloe saved Clark at the Fortress from becoming the vessel of General Zod at the hands of the first Brainiac, but as far as Garth was concerned, they were just getting started. For another forty-five minutes, Garth continued grilling Connor for more. Finally, Connor had had enough.

"So, let me see if I have this straight," Garth sought confirmation with, "The reason why Chloe intervened to prevent Kal-El from sending Doomsday into the Phantom Zone in the first place was that she feared he wouldn't be able to live with himself after doing that to the 'innocent human victim' Davis Bloome?"

"Something like that," Connor answered, having no desire whatsoever to further wade into the details of that particular episode in his family members' lives.

"And then, it was Chloe who tried to save Kal-El by running off with Davis Bloome in an attempt to lead Doomsday as far as she could away from him. And, all that was after she tried to kill him with kryptonite, which instead accomplished the exact opposite result," Garth continued in escalating confusion.

"I doubt she was acting rationally, if that's what you're getting at," Connor defended his mother's actions, "But, yes, everything she did was to protect my Uncle Clark."

"She must have really cared about him to do all that…She's probably the reason why he's still alive at all," Garth commented as realization dawned on his face.

"You know, we've been at this for well over an hour. Don't you guys have stuff to do?" Connor politely but impatiently hinted.

"Wait, wait, wait," Garth implored, "What happened after? I mean, Davis and Jimmy were dead. Chloe was all alone. What did Kal-El do?"

"You want to know what he did?!" Connor flew into an angry tirade as he rose sharply from the table. "He left her! He declared that 'Clark Kent is dead,' said his goodbye, and left his best, closest, most important friend exactly the way you just described: devastated, alone, and broken-hearted to fend for herself while he ran off to the North Pole like frickin' Santa Claus and hid in his Fortress. And when he finally did come back, what did he do when my mother needed him most? He got busy falling for her cousin, Lois Lane. You know, my Mom didn't show it, but she was hurt—for a long time. He flat-out refused to help her and abandoned her. That was cold even by Kryptonian standards. She was so sick of getting her heart broken by him; the only reason it didn't break _again_ was because there was nothing left of it after Hank 'Jimmy' Olsen died. And, it wasn't just Clark—it was Lois, too, and it was the sheer, cosmic stupidity of it all. Uncle Clark and Aunt Lois could not _stand_ each other for something like two years after they first met. My mother stood by him all of his life from the day they met in the eighth grade. And, what did he do for her? How did he thank her? Why do you think she stopped giving a damn and sealed herself up inside of Watchtower for months playing the Justice League's cyber-commando? She just gave up trying with him—waiting for him. She finally realized he wasn't worth all the tears she shed over him. Superman wasn't her hero; the Green Arrow was. My _father_ was. Oliver Queen pulled Chloe Sullivan out of the hell she was in, not Clark Kent."

The level of contempt evident in Connor's voice dropped off as he slung his jacket over his arm and started walking away from the table. Half-turned away from the Legionnaires, he paused and scoffed, "You know something else? Even after all that…after everything he put my mother through, she still thought the world of my uncle. She never blamed him. She never stopped believing in him. And, she was always so proud of their friendship." The contempt returned to his voice backed by scorn as Connor finished, "You people don't know anything in this century…not a damned thing. Does _that_ answer all your questions?" With that, Connor promptly left.

"Satisfied now, Garth?" Imra voiced her displeasure as she too rose from the table and parted company. Rokk just leaned back in his chair, pressed his fingertips together, and silently looked across the table at the other Legionnaire.

_No,_ he thought to himself in response to both questions. In fact, Garth Ranzz had been left in a decidedly unsatisfied state with more questions than ever. And, he decided then and there that he would have to do something about that…something that involved quite a bit more than just picking Connor Hawke's brain.

As Connor slowly made his way down the corridor toward his quarters, sulking as he went, he mulled over where that outburst in the commissary came from. It's true that Garth's incessant prying was annoying at times, but he didn't have anything against him personally. He just couldn't take the constant hero worship. What Uncle Clark said in the infirmary was right. These people really were blind to the fact that while Superman may be a savior to Earth, _Clark Kent _could be just as morally weak and flawed as the rest of us humans at times.

Maybe things had just been building inside of Connor for a while without him really having been aware of it, and he needed to find some way to deal with them. He _had_ been in this time for weeks with no indication of for how long this situation would go on. And, amazing as the future was, he didn't belong here in the 31st Century. He missed his life in the 21st Century, his friends, and his father most of all. It didn't help that his mother had been somewhat emotionally absent or distant the past few weeks. Clark, Diana, and J'onn had been there for him, but they could do only so much. He knew the Legionnaires meant well, but he wanted to return to the friends he knew—the ones who knew him. And, he was done giving his series of unending history lessons about the past. Garth may never grow tired of it, but Connor had. Now that he'd given it some serious thought, he realized the pressure had been mounting on every side for weeks, and it finally exploded like a dam bursting open all at Garth. He almost felt sorry for the guy…almost. Just shy of his own room, Connor decided to cut short his trip back to his quarters and gave a knock on his mom's room right next door.

The door slid open presenting Chloe right behind it. "Connor," she said with a smile, pleasantly surprised at her son's unexpected visit, "Come in." He entered his mother's quarters and took up his station near the wall. Leaning back against it, he folded his arms somberly and gazed steadily at the floor. Taking note of her son's sober demeanor, Chloe mentioned, "I was just on my way out, but if you need to talk…"

Connor nodded gravely and raised his head to speak, "I'm ready to go home, Mom."

Chloe froze abruptly at his announcement. She opened her mouth slightly, searching for something to say before speaking, "Look, Connor, I know I've been neglecting you a bit lately, and I'm truly sorry for that." She looked up into her son's eyes, speaking every word with sincerity, "But, our job is not quite done here yet."

The truth was that she wasn't so much neglecting Connor as much as being very careful with her time around him, perhaps cautiously avoiding him while trying hard not to seem like she was. Ever since her memories of that night came back, Chloe had been quietly trying to come to terms with Oliver's death while also attempting to think of a way to tell Connor that his father was dead. Where the part about benign neglect came in was that she was afraid that if she wasn't careful around him, she'd make a mistake and let slip to Connor that Oliver was dead in a way she didn't want her son to find out. And, even if she didn't communicate it to him verbally, they'd always been so close, mother and son. He could always tell what she was thinking.

"When will it be done?"

Again Chloe's mouth dropped open with a moment of unbroken silence following. At last, she answered, "Soon, I promise." Chloe faked a smile and suggested to her son, "Try to think of this as a really long vacation."

Connor was dubious at that. "I'm used to taking really long vacations with my friends in either tropical locations or subzero ski resorts in the Swiss Alps."

"Your father and I have really spoiled you something terrible, haven't we?" Chloe attempted to lighten the mood with as she smiled slightly.

Connor returned a half-smile as he stood up from the wall and unfolded his arms. Approaching his mother, he spoke gently but firmly, "Seriously, Mom, I do miss my friends and _my father." _Connor's facial expression changed to one of perplexity when he said next, "What about Dad? He should be here with us."

Chloe, fearful of where this talk of Oliver and the past would take them, turned away from Connor and pretended to be considering his words while she was really trying to hold back tears. Connor took the last few steps closer to his mother and pleaded, "Let's go back just for a break and get away from all this future weirdness. We don't have to stay, and we can come back the exact minute after we leave. I really want to go home, Mom. I miss my father. I want to see Dad."

"Connor…" Chloe pleaded back as she turned around to face her son. And in that moment, in her eyes, he saw it all: the horror, the sadness, the helplessness, the devastation. Suddenly, unexpectedly everything began to make sense—the absence of his father, the rescue of his mother without his help, all the bitter emotion conveyed in his mother's face—yet, even as all of it started to come together and be understood, Connor still continued in denial of what was so obvious before him.

"We can bring him back here," he persisted, his own eyes turning wet with tears, "Uncle Clark can convince Rokk and the others to let him come back here. If they're worried about changing the past, then Brainiac Five can mindwipe the memories of the future from all three of us before we all left for good after Darkseid is history." He added as persuasively as he could, "You wouldn't have to be alone every night. I know you miss him, too. Please, let's just see Dad, again. I need my father. I need…"

Chloe, on the verge of breaking down, incapable of finding her voice, slowly and silently shook her head at Connor. The color drained from his face as his eyes looked all around trying to find something to focus on. Struggling mightily to hold himself together, he staggered back, stunned. "It _can't_ be true…he's _not_…Dad _can't_ be…" Connor insisted, his voice quiet yet fervent. Chloe reached out to take her son into her embrace, but he raised his arms to block hers and shoved them away forcefully. The color rushed with a vengeance back to Connor's face as it contorted into a mask of barely contained rage and hurt and anguish. "Why didn't you tell me…WHY? Why didn't Clark or J'onn or Imra?! Why didn't anyone tell me?!" Connor cried out, overcome with intense emotion, as he stormed out of his mother's room and down the hall.

He could always tell what she was thinking. Ever since Chloe Sullivan had learned she was going to be a mother, she desired a close relationship with her son. She'd be reminded of the relationship that Clark had had with Martha Kent, and she'd think to herself, _That is what I want for my child and me. _And, she got her wish. They'd always been so close, mother and son—Chloe saw to that—even to the point where Connor could always tell what she was thinking. Even when she didn't want him to know.

Not long after, a lone figure wearing a biker's helmet, jumpsuit, and boots—all in black from head to toe, save for some sparsely distributed silver trim and striping—entered the ground floor hangar bay of Legion Headquarters and mounted one of the cycles there. Manipulating the controls on the cycle's instrument panel, he activated the vehicle, revved the engine a bit, and opened the bay doors. Next, he tucked his head and shoulders underneath the windshield which extended over and past them. Then, he lifted his legs and placed both feet securely onto each footrest. Zooming out of the hangar bay with a roar, the cycle carried its rider at great speed away from the Legion Tower. As the rider increased the vehicle's speed and the citadel was put further and further into the distance, a narrow but steady stream of tears could be seen through the visor of his helmet silently falling down his face.


	11. Chapter 11: Epiphany

Chapter 11: Epiphany

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_I just don't know how I'm supposed to be the man he wanted me to be without him here._ (Clark Kent)  
_You're his son. You know what's right and wrong. Whether your father is here with us or not, you're a man he's proud of…a man he could look up to.  
And, something tells me he won't be the only one. _(Martha Kent)  
– from _Reckoning _

.

"She hasn't come by to talk to you, yet?"

"No, Kal-El, she hasn't."

"I don't know what to tell you, J'onn. I told her that she should see you—that you want to talk with her about what happened that night."

"Then, I suppose, she doesn't want to talk about it."

"Or know about it. It probably wouldn't make any difference anyway. From what Chloe's said to me about what she remembers, I doubt she can tell you anything new."

"That is assuming that she is remembering everything, Kal-El. It was a severely traumatic experience for her. But, if she would just allow me inside her mind, I could help her to recall any details she may have forgotten or is suppressing. Perhaps you might persuade her."

"I'm not exactly her favorite person in the world right now, J'onn. If she hasn't approached you about it already, I doubt I can change anything. Not to mention that having someone digging around in her head, again, so soon is probably the last thing she wants."

The Martian Manhunter sighed in frustration, "Well, make no mistake. I am still as determined as ever to find who is responsible for Green Arrow's death. I have looked into the still, dead eyes of Oliver Queen, and I vowed to bring to justice all those that are responsible for his murder. I have waited one thousand years. I can wait longer. This case may be cold, but it is far from closed. Even if it takes another thousand years."

With that, J'onn J'onzz rose from the table and parted company. As he left the room, Kal-El observed, "Now, there goes one dogged detective."

Wonder Woman, who was also present with them, happened to look up and see who would take his place at table. "Speaking of…" she trailed off. Chloe Sullivan entered just in time for J'onn to brush by her without a word.

Chloe slowed her stride and watched J'onn pass her as if she wasn't even there. She then turned back to Kal-El and Diana. With a questioning look and a hitchhiker's thumb gesture over her shoulder, she inquired, "What was that about?" Diana kept silent while Kal-El, feigning ignorance, simply shrugged and shook his head. Chloe gave the two of them a look of skepticism as she sat down in the now-empty chair.

"Coffee?" Diana offered with a smile as she passed a steaming-hot mug to Chloe while trying hard to act as if nothing was amiss.

"Thank you."

.

.

Nothing. Not a single thing was familiar to him. It was like he'd never been there before. Which, technically, was true. He hadn't been there before. At least, not the 31st century version of it. He felt like such a fool. Here he was in the city that he was born in, raised in, and lived all his life in, and it was like he was a complete tourist. In fact, since his arrival in Star City, Connor Hawke had yet to recognize anything, and he had driven up and down street after street for well over an hour.

Now, he knew that things would be different. He knew that much of the city would have changed, even drastically so, over the course of a thousand years. But, he expected to recognize _something. _Even the streets all had different names. He decided to pull over to the side of the road and stop for a minute while he tried to get his bearings. Via deduction, Connor figured what quarter of the city he was in and what neighborhood and began to build a mental map over his immediate surroundings. However, the buzzings and commotions of the busy city street were making that difficult. There was one noise in particular that he found insurmountably distracting.

_I wish to God that bell would quit tolling the hour. It's been going on forever, and it's sooo loud. It's got to be right around the corner or something. _Connor tried again to ignore everything but what would help him figure out where he was and turn this immediate area into familiar territory. Connor shook his head and hung it in the palm of his hand. Then, suddenly, he picked his head up. _Hold on…I know that bell. I know that bell!_ After coming across the first thing he recognized since leaving the Legion Tower, Connor quickly took back to the street on his cycle and followed those crisp, clear tones. He drove up to the next street corner, turned right, and followed the ringing of the bell for another two blocks. Soon, he discovered the source of the sonance still tolling over the city, and the bell that led him there was no longer the only thing he recognized. The place had changed, no doubt; it definitely was different. Nevertheless, the façade, the towering walls, the buttresses in support, and the Gothic architecture were all familiar to him.

Connor Hawke had arrived at Stella Maris, the Cathedral Church of Star City. _Leave it to a cathedral to still be standing after one thousand years, _Connor thought to himself. Even as he was thrilled at the sight of something he knew, he was quickly overtaken with mixed emotions. On the one hand, a part of him saw it as a welcome refuge that offered comfort and hope and just wanted to run inside. On the other hand, another part of him wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. The internal conflict waged on inside of him, and the part of him drawn to enter won out in the end. Connor parked the cycle, activated the security lock, and removing his head gear, climbed the steps of the cathedral plaza and went inside.

At first glance, Stella Maris Cathedral had obviously been renovated God knows how many times over the centuries. Like the exterior, it didn't quite look the way he remembered it on the inside. Yet, it seemed to Connor that everything was where it was supposed to be. The vaulted ceilings and columns of stone; the magnificent stained-glass windows depicting holy figures and biblical episodes; the floor of marble with its shiny, reflective surface; the crystal chandeliers that hung from above and illuminated the whole interior; the pews and benches of solid wood arranged with precision in an orderly pattern across the floor space; and in every niche and corner, statues of patriarchs and prophets, martyrs and confessors, angels and saints made of plaster, ceramic, resin, marble, and stone all seemed familiar and all seemed to welcome him and beckon him forth. Even the soft, organ music being played by someone practicing for a concert to be given later in the week added the right touch of ambiance to the scene.

As he made his way as quietly as possible up the main, center aisle, Connor did his best to go unnoticed. He briefly looked toward the far, side aisle at the handful of penitents that had congregated in a short line while waiting to have their confessions heard. A light above one of the confessionals was lit, indicating it was occupied. It soon went out and relit just as quickly as a woman pulled back the curtain to exit the confessional and another took her place drawing the curtain behind her. Another station had been set up in open, plain view a little further down the aisle where a priest sat behind a full, portable screen with kneeler.

Connor redirected his sight toward the nearing sanctuary before him. He briefly acknowledged the statue of the Blessed Virgin cradling her infant Son in the center of the ornate high altar in the midst of a dozen or so other saintly figures. With atypical reverence, he approached the Communion rail made mostly of marble with brass ornamentation, set his helmet down on it beside him, and knelt. Making a clumsily awkward Sign of the Cross, he rested his forearms on the rail, subconsciously folded his hands, and sighed. He didn't pray as much as he tried to collect his thoughts and feelings. He took another look around him. All of a sudden, Connor felt a whole lot better about his decision to come inside. Everything looked and felt so perfectly normal and right, right there and then. It could have been the day before he left for the future with his mom and Clark and Diana. The 21st Century and not the 31st could have been waiting for him beyond the doors of the cathedral. His mom, as human as ever without any superpowers, could have been standing right behind him alongside his still-living father. Connor sighed again deeply at that last thought. _Oh, Dad…If I ever needed you, Dad…I sure need you now. _He wiped his palms back and forth absently as he looked from his one side to the other down at the floor and frowned in distress.

"Hello, Connor."

The youth's eyes widened at the sound of the all-too-familiar voice that he'd just heard as clear as the bell sounding from the cathedral bell tower mere moments ago. Connor lifted his head to look up in the direction from which the voice had come. What he saw was just not possible. But, there was no mistaking the broad, square shoulders; the cleft chin; those boyishly handsome looks; the deep chocolate eyes; the spiked, flaxen hair; the way he swaggered as he approached Connor from within the sanctuary; the irreverent manner in which he took his perch atop the Communion rail, setting one foot upon it with his leg bent and knee gathered to his chest while he dangled his other leg over the side of it and rested his other foot on the floor.

"…Dad?" Connor managed to get out. He was so stunned and overcome by a combination of disbelief, confusion, and elation at seeing his _father, _Connor was very nearly speechless.

Whether this was an hallucination or the spirit of his deceased father had genuinely returned to him, "Oliver Queen" studied his son critically through narrowed eyes. After a moment, he observed, "You know, Son, I think you've gotten taller since I saw you last. When you top out, you're going to be as big as the old man." He concluded his prognostication with a broad, proud, and confident smile.

Barely registering what his father had said to him and still not quite recovered, Connor merely said, "Dad…I thought you were—"

"Dead?" Oliver completed his son's sentence for him. "I am," he confirmed, further explaining, "But, I still had to be here. After all, you said you need your father. So, here I am."

.

.

"You know, Chloe, I don't think your son has a very high opinion of me," Kal-El noted with more than a hint of regret.

"That wasn't always the case," Chloe reminded as she blew away some of the steam from her cup, causing a layer of frost to form about the rim in the process. "Whoops," she commented as she took a sip. Then, she felt down-right silly. After all, extreme hot and cold temperatures didn't affect her anymore. Her sips gave way to whole gulps from her cup before she stopped, considering what Kal-El had just said. "Wait a minute…you heard that?"

"If you're referring to the little blowout between Garth and Connor, then, didn't you?"

"It was hard not to," Chloe admitted. Kal-El immediately looked downcast. Right away, Chloe further explained, "I only meant because ever since I got your super-hearing, I've been able to hear every word he says. Doesn't matter where he is in the complex." She paused in thought before adding, "Maybe it's just mother's instinct. Whenever I hear him, I keep listening to make sure he's okay—until I realize I'm eavesdropping in on my own son—then, I feel guilty about it and stop. I guess I've learned to tune it out, though. I haven't heard Connor in a while."

_That's funny. Neither have I, _Kal-El said to himself, now that he thought about it.

Misreading Kal-El's pensive facial expression as brooding, Chloe spoke up. "Give the kid a break, Clark," she admonished and encouraged at the same time, "He just wants to go back home to the Twenty-first Century." Kal-El nodded in tacit acknowledgment. Looking down in self-chastisement, Chloe conceded, "I've been avoiding him. I really should go and talk with him. Time to switch to mom-mode." Chloe resolutely rose from the table, finished what was left in her mug, set it back down on the table, and said, "Thanks for the coffee," as she headed out the door.

Diana watched her go then looked over for a moment at the once-again-empty chair before turning her attention back to Kal-El and asking of him, "Now…where were we?"

.

.

"You know, Connor, I have to admit," Oliver confided to his son, "Of all the places I ever expected to find you in, this had to be one of the last. But, considering the…Source…of my information regarding your whereabouts, I decided to…take a leap of faith. So, here I am. And, here you are."

Connor thoroughly looked over his father. Oliver Queen was dressed in a sports blazer with a button-down shirt underneath, open from the collar down to about mid-chest level, and dress pants—all in solid white from head to toe, including dress shoes that appeared to be on the expensive side. Connor Hawke expressed his astonishment, "But, you're not…you can't be…real?" Oliver reached out to his son, but he flinched in response and instinctively pulled away.

"Relax, Son," Oliver reassured, bringing his hand to rest on Connor's shoulder despite his initial recoil, "I am real, and I'm really here with you. This isn't a trick or a trap."

"But, how…are you here? I mean, who—"

His father quickly interrupted, "Whatever you feel comfortable with: God, Fate, the Multi-verse, whatever is supposedly beyond the Source Wall at the edge of the universe. Whatever is pulling the strings, wherever the buck stops, whoever gets the final word, has allowed this. I'm not here to preach, just to see my son."

"Why did you leave, Dad?" Connor asked on the verge of breaking down into tears, "Why did you have to die? Why did all this have to happen?"

Oliver looked with intense compassion on his son. With pity evident in his voice, he asked him, "If I told you the answer to that, would it help? Would it make you feel any better about what happened? About any of this? Would knowing change anything? Would it help at all?" Connor simply looked down and barely noticeably shook his head in answer to his father. Oliver brought his hand to Connor's chin and raised his son's head up to look into those eyes that reminded him so much of those that belonged to the woman he loved—the woman he married. He, then, told his son, solemnly, "Then, let me tell you something instead that _will_ help. I'm okay, Son. And you? You're going to be fine, Connor Hawke."

.

.

"Diana, she didn't even look at me…didn't even say anything…about it. She still hasn't, and it's been close to a month."

"I keep coming back to the part where you kissed her." Kal-El gave her a look that was hardly complimentary. He was hoping for something a bit more encouraging from her. No such luck. "What did you expect, Kal? For her to fall into your arms and tell you that you were the only man she ever really loved? Look at everything she's been through—she _and_ her son—since this whole thing started. 'Oh, by the way, I'm in love with you,' is _not_ what she needs to hear, right now—especially from the person who wanted only to be friends with her her whole life."

"You're not helping, Diana, and I never said I was in love with Chloe."

"You didn't have to. How long have we known each other, Kal? Ever since you saw her again at Belle Reve, everything about you has screamed, 'I'm in love with Chloe Sullivan!'."

Kal-El looked her straight in the face and told her, "I doubt that."

Yet, even in his state of denial, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He thought back to that morning in Chloe's quarters and how she'd reacted to him, or more precisely, how she didn't react. He knew there was a time when she would have just melted into his touch, his gaze, his embrace, insisted that he caress her with his lips, welcomed the heat rising between them…but, that time was long gone. She was completely unresponsive to him. So cold, so aloof, so unreachable. He recalled the look on her face: unmoved, unchanging, resigned as she turned away from him and walked silently away.

Kal-El had been astonished at her. He could not believe this was the woman, his friend, whose feelings he had to keep at bay—even fight off her advances at times (even if she wasn't quite herself at those times)—while delicately trying not to fracture her heart at the same time all those centuries ago. For perhaps the first time, he understood what she must have felt every time he rejected her. Zod's blue kryptonite dagger stabbing in his abdomen was bliss by comparison. Great Rao, what had he done to her?

Kal-El's denials weren't convincing Diana, either. She was a very perceptive woman even without her empathic powers and Kal-El's best friend for many times longer than most mortals live. "Are you sure you aren't simply feeling lonely, Kal?"

"Hmm?" he asked, awakening from his vivid recall.

"And still feeling a bit guilty about Oliver's death, too?"

"What do you mean?" Kal-El asked defensively.

"Chloe represents a connection to simpler, happier times. A time when things made sense. You no longer feel cut off when you're with her. You see her as someone who could deliver you from your isolation that has lasted for longer than you can remember. You also told me, yourself, that you let Chloe down huge twice. You couldn't save Jimmy or Oliver before they died. You chose not to change the past and prevent their deaths from happening after the fact. Isn't it possible that you now think this is a way to somehow make up for that? What you're contemplating doing with Chloe has enormous, potential consequences for everyone. And, if you take that chance and can't make it happen between you…If you're not doing this for the right reasons or if you aren't sure…"

"You think I haven't considered that? Do you really think that I have not said those very same words to myself over and over again? That I haven't thought about this repeatedly from every possible angle? Weighed the consequences a thousand times? Or that I would be telling you any of this if I wasn't absolutely sure that this is what I wanted? Great Rao, Diana…"

Diana could see Kal-El was getting worked up. She clarified, trying to pacify him, "It's just that ever since Chloe and Connor have come back into our lives, most, if not all, of your actions have been on the emotional side. You seem driven by your feelings, and I haven't seen that happen to you in a _long_ time. I don't mind saying that I'm worried about you, Kal. Chloe is a different person, now. For that matter, so are you. She isn't the girl you knew back in high school or college anymore. Plus, what she's going through now that she knows about Oliver—"

"I know all that," Kal-El interrupted, "But, I remember the woman she was before she and Connor disappeared. I remember the Chloe from 2029, and I…I want to be there for her this time, Diana. I need to help her and my godson. All I can tell you is that it is not what you think. This is real."

Diana stared for a long time at Kal-El. There was a lot that he was leaving out. A lot that he had left unsaid about himself and Chloe, and he knew it. Diana knew, too. And, they both knew that they both knew. No one was fooling anyone, here, least of all themselves.

"Speaking of whom, have you thought about how Connor would react?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Kal-El just shook his head then asked, "Who appointed you my conscience, anyway?"

"You did. Just before we left here to rescue Chloe and Connor, you said to me, 'Diana, I don't trust my judgment once I see Chloe again. But, I trust you. I need _you_ to be my conscience so I don't do anything stupid or reckless.' Remember that?"

.

.

"How's your Nietzsche, Son? Do you remember it?"

"Of course."

"Then, you must remember Übermensch. Too many people have less than a cursory knowledge of Nietzsche. They have no idea that the Nietzschean concept of the Übermensch is a lot closer to Lex and Lionel Luthor than it ever was to _our_ favorite, blue-and-red-spandex-sporting "Superman." Friedrich Nietzsche would _never_ approve of what Clark does with his superpowers all the time: Constantly helping the humans, saving lives, living by a quaint moral code based on an antiquated value system, corrupting this generation's Legion of Super-Heroes with his outdated beliefs about good and evil. The philosopher would be appalled." Oliver paused and looked all about the place as if considering his next words carefully. "Let me tell you something else about Herr Friedrich. He once said, 'Those who would fight monsters must take care not to become one, themselves.'"

"'And, if you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss will begin to stare back into you.' _Beyond Good and Evil,_ Aphorism 146."

"I'm a little perturbed that you actually know that, Connor."

"Relax, Dad, it's the only one I can ever remember."

Oliver half-smiled then continued, "Our…friend, Lex Luthor probably knew Nietzsche better than anyone, but he failed to learn that lesson. That's why in opposing his father, Lionel—in constantly trying to beat him at his own game—he learned his father's tactics so well that he eventually _became_ him and worse. You _cannot_ defeat the darkness by delving deeper into it and trying to use its own weapons against it. You can fight it only with the light. But, hey, who am I to talk? That's a lesson I failed to learn, myself. That's why I killed Lex. I still like to think I did it for the greater good. And, even if I did, you know what? It didn't work. Lex came back. And the _only_ thing I ended up accomplishing was just to take one, long step further down the path that I'd already begun a long time before. A path that would leave me in a pit of darkness as Darkseid's plaything. Because the thing of it is, once you blur that line between good and evil—light and dark—enough times it's hard to find after awhile, and you forget where it is, and those two sides get awful hard to tell apart. Once you step over that line enough times, you get used to doing it. You start to wonder why it was there in the first place. You forget that it was there precisely for your own good. A lot of heroes went down that way and never came back. I was lucky. I had someone like Clark around to save my ass when it happened to me. _He_ knew that there are some lines that should _never_ be crossed. And, he knew that whenever you took the chance to cross _any_ line, there was always a part of yourself that never came back over with you. That you lose yourself in the process. That there are _always_ consequences to our actions. He knew that better than anyone. Clark had to. Because if Superman ever went bad, I shudder to think what would happen." Another solemn, pregnant pause followed. "Did I ever tell you why I fell under Darkseid's influence?"

"No," Connor answered with his undivided attention on his father.

"It happened because I thought that one of his minions, a man named Desaad, had killed your mother. He told me she was dead, and I believed it. I should have known better than to listen to that lying son of a… Anyway, that was my first mistake. My second mistake was how I reacted. I was ready to kill anyone and everyone responsible for her death, starting with him," Oliver revealed honestly but regretfully.

"You loved Mom. I mean, that's what love is, isn't it? What it does to you?"

Connor's father responded gravely, "No. That is not what love is. I was so attached to your mother—so in need of her—that I couldn't imagine my life without her. And, while that sounds very romantic and probably tracks with what most people's ideas about what love is are, that is not love. True love is never about what you get from another person; it's about what you give to them. That's the difference between true love and selfishness. Your mother understands that better than anyone I knew. _She_ is a person who truly loved, who truly gave of herself, who really sacrificed. It took her some time to grow up, but even before getting out of high school, she learned to really love your uncle. And, she did. She sacrificed career, other relationships, and stopped expecting anything in return after awhile. Clark chose not to return that love fully in the same way. His loss, _big _time. But, it turned out to be my gain…and yours. And, I did finally learn to love her the way she loved me. That's how I was able to give my life for her and why I did it. It's not anyone's fault, except maybe for the ones that shot at us. But, you can't go looking for someone to blame, least of all yourself, Connor."

"…I…don't—" Connor began to deny, stammering.

"Yes, you do. You blame yourself, you blame your mother, and you blame me. But, you blame your Uncle Clark most of all. I'm not sure why. Maybe because he's the one you feel the least amount of guilt over blaming. Maybe it's because you've never really forgiven him for abandoning your mother when she most needed him, even if it happened before you were even born. Or, maybe because you think more than anyone else, _he_ was the one that _could_ have saved me and _should_ have saved me. Maybe you think of him the way you think of God, and he didn't miraculously save your father the way he does everyone else. And, like God, Superman is just the easiest person for you _to_ blame. After all, with his super-strength and invulnerability, you know he can take it. So, why not withhold your love from your uncle and godfather since that's the only way you can really hurt him, maybe even stir up his super-guilt-complex to hurt him even more? Especially, when you know that he'll _never_ stop loving you and caring for you no matter how much you try to hate him. How am I doing so far? Am I warm? Or, do I not know my own son as well as I should?"

Rather than admit to his father that he was dead-on (no pun intended), Connor countered, "I thought you said you weren't here to preach?"

"I guess I was wrong."

"When did you get all philosophical, Dad?"

"Hey, I'm classically educated just like you," Oliver defended himself to his son, "And, I _did_ pick up a _few_ things while I was at Excelsior Academy. Besides, when you're dead, you have a lot of time on your hands to think. Especially about all the things you should have done and wished you had done differently."

.

.

"I still have my misgivings about this, but if it's really what you want to do…"

"It is…more than anything."

"All right, Kal. If you can remember the Chloe Sullivan from 2029, perhaps _she_ can remember the Clark Kent from a thousand years ago. I mean the one that wasn't married to Lois Lane or even in love with her, yet. The one that Chloe loved before she was married the first time? Perhaps she could be reminded of why she fell in love with you in the first place," Diana surmised.

"So, what are you thinking?" Kal-El asked, a faint glimmer of hope in his voice.

"I am thinking that Chloe Sullivan has been working pretty hard lately and that she needs a short vacation, not just from the Legion but from the 31st Century. She needs for you both to be together in familiar settings where she can feel safe and unanxious and be free to know her heart again with you. Can you give her that?"

"Yeah, I think so," Kal-El replied, perking up for the first time since this conversation began. "But, do you think it's right? Chloe and I just dropping everything and going off together while the fate of the world is at stake?"

"You won't be gone long," Diana pointed out, "Apokolips isn't going to be here tomorrow. Besides, we can't put our lives on hold just because the end of the world is coming. And, if we _are_ going to be fighting for our very lives, there should be something in our lives worth fighting for."

Impressed by such profound sagacity, Kal-El considered Diana's words and said, "I remember when I used to give you advice. When did you get so wise?"

"You may be a thousand years old, Kal, and you've spent a bit more time in the world than I have. But, I still have been at this a lot longer than you have," Diana reminded.

"Now, I remember why I asked you to be my conscience. Diana, you're a genius." Kal-El stood from the table, giving Diana a quick peck on the lips as he rose. As his mind struck with a plan, Kal-El entreated her, "I need something else from you…a favor." Diana raised her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly in anticipation of his request. "Chloe's going to need a dress in her size—one that's just on the violet side of hot pink."

"Hmmm…" Diana replied with a sly grin before agreeing, "If you're thinking of what I think you're thinking of, then I can help you there."

.

.

"But, you guys were heroes, Dad. Why would you want to have done anything differently…other than, you know…not being killed?"

"I think we did eventually become the heroes we originally set out to be, but we weren't like that in the beginning. What did you think the Justice League was when it first started, anyway? A band of warrior angels who descended from heaven on high? I hate to break this to you, Connor, but your father was a thief _and_ a murderer. Before you were born, your extended family was at odds with itself all the time. We would undermine each other, manipulate each other, sabotage each other, even abandon each other. We had to learn how to be heroes, how to be a team, to trust one another. And, even after we did, we were never saints. All of us made morally questionable decisions to put it mildly. All of us did things we were not proud of. All of us made mistakes and all of us failed. Believe me, I've had more than my fair share. Nobody—not one of us—was perfect. Not your mother, not me, and not Clark. We all just did what we thought we had to do, and there were plenty of things that I did that I wished I'd given more thought to before I did them."

"Like what?"

"Like what you and Garth were having such a heated discussion about, just before you learned from your mother what happened to me. Clark wasn't the only one to run away, you know. The whole team split up after that whole Doomsday thing. I mean, look what I did. Nobody gets a free pass on that one. We all shared in the blame. But, your mother…she still believed in us—all of us. She was the one who brought us back together. By the way, and since you brought it up with your Legionnaire friends, you should know that after that happened, the situation with me and your mother and Clark and Lois was way more complicated than you can ever know or understand." Oliver opened his mouth as if to elaborate but closed it again without speaking further on the subject. Perplexed, Connor cocked his head to the side and watched with furrowed brow. His father paused a moment in thought and then said only, "But, that's all I'm going to say about that. As for me, personally, from then on I had to clean up my act a lot; and I did for the most part. So, if your Dad lived to be a man you could be proud of, and died as one, then know that your mother and you had a lot to do with that. I have no regrets about what happened when it comes to you and your mother."

.

.

Just as Kal-El eagerly turned toward the door to leave, Chloe walked back in through it. He registered the worried look on her face. Suddenly concerned, he asked her, "Is something wrong, Chloe?"

"I can't find Connor. Have either of you seen him?" Her voice sounded equally worried.

"No," Kal-El replied.

"Have you checked his quarters?" Diana suggested.

"I've checked his quarters, my quarters, the dining room, the lounge, the Kitchen—"

"Okay, just calm down, Chloe," Kal-El said as soothingly as he could. He gently gripped her shoulders and added, "I'm sure he's somewhere in Legion Headquarters."

Clearly upset, Chloe told him, "Clark, nobody has seen him anywhere. I haven't seen him all afternoon…I can't hear him." She spoke the last part barely above a whisper.

Diana tried to place her at ease, "It's a big complex, Chloe. He probably just got lost again and is wandering the halls somewhere."

"Got lost? After living here for a month?" Chloe asked, unconvinced.

"Shh…" Kal-El shushed as he listened very carefully for any sign of Connor. Hearing nothing, he reported, "I can't hear him, either. He's not anywhere in the citadel."

"We don't know that for sure," Diana speculated, "Maybe he's sleeping or reading or—"

"He'd still be breathing," Kal-El argued, "and his heart would still be beating. I can't make out either one. Wherever he is, it's not here."

As if on cue, Imra Ardeen hurriedly re-entered the room, next. "Hey, has anyone seen Connor?" she inquired.

Now, it was Diana's turn to answer, "No."

"I haven't seen him since he stormed out at lunch," Imra informed the group. "Something else—one of the cycles is missing from the launch bay."

Chloe's jaw dropped, and her alert status instantly jumped a couple of levels. "My God, Connor's run away," she concluded in dismay.

"Run away?" Kal-El echoed. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he found out that his father is dead," Chloe confessed.

"You told him?" Kal-El asked incredulously, his level of anxiety suddenly matching Chloe's.

"I _didn't_ tell him! He just knew," Chloe asserted adamantly.

Kal-El sighed also in dismay. "All right, where would he go?"

"He said he was homesick," Chloe divulged.

"Star City?" Kal-El assumed. "What could possibly still be there for him after a thousand years?"

"I don't care…" Chloe said with eyes lowered. When she raised them to Kal-El's face, he could see the panic in them. "I've got to get my son back—I've got to find him and I've got to bring him back," Chloe said, already heading for the door.

Kal-El reached out and gently took hold of Chloe's arm, saying, "No, I'll find him." Chloe was about to protest, but anticipating her objection, Kal-El pre-emptively inserted, "A lot of time has passed, Chloe, and things are a lot different now, even in Star City. Besides, I'm the one that let him down. This is my mess—I'll fix it and bring him back."

"Kal-El, if what Rokk and I watched go down between Garth and Connor earlier today is any indication, he won't want you bringing him back here, either," Imra cautioned. "I'll go."

"I doubt he wants to see any of you, right now," Diana warned, "But, he'll still talk to me. I'll bring him home."

All eyes were on Diana until Imra decided to speak up, "Why do you get to be the one to go, Princess? Why will he see _you_ and not us?"

Diana came back with, "Because, Imra, I'm not the one who has spent every day with him since he arrived arguably becoming his closest friend, and yet, chose not to disclose to him the fact that his father wouldn't be waiting for him when he returns to the Twenty-first Century… even though, as a leader of the Legion, you knew and could have." Turning in Kal-El's direction, she continued, "Nor has he ever idolized me the way he did you, Kal-El. After his father and mother, you're the one person he looked up to more than anyone—trusted more than anyone. You promised that you would take care of this and you didn't. You think he doesn't know that? He's not a boy anymore, Kal-El; he's a very perceptive young man. And, as for you, Chloe," she paused and softened her voice and her tone, "Well, Lil Sis, what do you think? You, apparently, were the last person to see him. Do you think he wants to see you again, so soon?" Chloe just looked at Diana, unwilling to answer the question and unable to say anything else. "If Connor did take one of the Legion's cycles, we can activate its homing beacon and track the signal right to his location. I'll find him and bring him back. He'll listen to me…I don't think I need to explain why to anyone here," Diana said, turning from the others and walking away.

"Try not to lead him on, Diana," Kal-El insinuated in uncharacteristic fashion that shocked even himself. _Where did that come from?_ In self-reproach, he hung his head and looked behind him before anyone had a chance to say anything.

Diana stopped short. Taking a brief moment to silently contain her indignation, she responded without looking back, "For your sake, I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Insulting the honor of an Amazonian princess who happens to be _your friend_ is beneath you, Kal-El. Even when you do it to deflect away from your embarrassment at the consequences of your own failure." Kal-El knew the rebuke was well-deserved, but he also knew that it was coming from a place where Diana cared more for Connor than she wanted anyone to know. She continued her pace toward the nearest window and without a further word or hesitation, took to the air through it.

Shaking off the exchange that just happened between himself and Diana, Kal-El chided his nephew, "You know, Connor ought to know better than to just take off like that."

"One reprove deserves another—is that it, Clark? Remind me, again, what you did when _you_ were his age?" Chloe returned.

Kal-El knew he didn't have to, that she remembered well what he did. _I ran away from home, same as your son._

.

.

"So, what am I supposed to do, now?"

"You have to grow up, Connor, much more than you already have. And, you can start by forgiving Clark. Whatever his failings may be, he doesn't deserve this from you. What happened to me isn't his fault, or your mother's, or yours. This is the price of being a hero—of fighting for what you believe in."

"And, sometimes you lose," Connor lamented.

"I didn't lose," Oliver said with absolute conviction, "I died doing right to the end what a hero does. If I'd cut and run and left your mother to die, Son, _then_ I'd have lost. Then, everyone loses. The measure of a true hero is two-fold, Connor. First, you do what you know is right, every time, no matter the cost. That's sacrifice, and that's what a hero does. Second, you inspire others to do exactly the same even long after you're gone. Clark's mother, Martha Kent, once told him something along those lines. She was right, too. Not every hero wears a costume or a cape or a mask. But, they all do what they can; they all do what they must. Are you hearing what I'm saying, Son? Do you understand?"

"Why are you telling me all this, Dad?"

"Because there are things that you and your mother and the Legion need to know. You are going to be the one to discover them, Connor. You have to, if Darkseid is going to lose. But, it's not just about him. This goes way beyond Darkseid and Apokolips. This is for yourselves and your future and the future of Earth and the rest of the galaxy. You think that your mother is here because Clark and the others want her to teach the Legion how to take on Darkseid and that you're here so that she doesn't have to be without you. There is so much more to the story than that. The reason you both are here is so much greater than that. You both will accomplish so much. She has a destiny to fulfill, Connor, here in this time. And, so do you. You're going to be one of us. That's the beginning of your destiny. But, just because you're the son of heroes doesn't mean you were born a hero, Connor. So, if you are serious about following in the footsteps of your dad and your mom the way you always took for granted you would one day, then it's time to get serious. Because you're going to have to learn everything that we did the way we did—the hard way. But, you're going to have help along the way."

Oliver reached out with his hand and pressed his palm to Connor's chest directly over his heart. Connor felt a sudden wave—of confidence and courage, of hope and of peace, of a certain knowledge of what must be done, the strength to do it with, and the resolve to see it through to the end—rush all through him. It felt like something coming into him from outside, but at the same time, like something that had always been inside of him and was now being released.

Connor looked down and over himself. Out of curiosity and amazement rather than fear or anxiety, he asked his father, "What did you do?"

"Sometimes God stacks the deck in our favor. And, sometimes Fate cheats itself and gets away with it. When you see Clark, tell him that this one's on me…and that he needs to start making better choices in the future," Oliver Queen explained cryptically. Then, he looked for a moment at his son affectionately. He pulled into a firm embrace the youth who looked so much like himself that they could have been near-mirror reflections of one another. Oliver then planted a tender kiss on the top of the side of his son's head. He whispered into his ear, "Our time's up, Connor. I'm so proud of you, and I love you. I always did and I always will. Take care, Son."

_Son…Son…Son…_his father's last word echoed over and over in Connor's mind. Something pulled Connor back to this world as he slowly became conscious of his shoulder being shaken and aware that someone was calling nearby.

"Son? Hey, Son. You awake, Son?" Connor stretched his eyes open as if awakening from a deep sleep and looked toward the voice apparently addressing him. He beheld an elderly and kindly-looking face. It took awhile for Connor to realize it was the priest trying to get his attention.

"Sorry, Dad…I mean…Father," Connor corrected himself.

The clergyman chuckled good-naturedly. "Did you want your confession heard, Son?"

"Uh…No," Connor answered as he rose to his feet and scratched his head. He looked over toward the side aisle where all the people had been and then at the rest of the church. Everyone had left. Connor and the priest seemed to be the only ones still in the cathedral. Still in a daze and not knowing what to make of what he thought had just transpired, he said to the priest, again, "No, thank you…uhm, it's all right."

The priest smiled, nodded, and headed off around the sanctuary. Connor called after him, "Father, uhm, did you…see…anyone besides me, just now?"

"Is there someone else here?" the priest asked, as he turned toward the sanctuary and craned his neck, leaning this way and that to see all around the altar and check all the corners of the space.

"No, I mean…when you first came over to me. Was there anyone with me?"

"Not that I saw," the priest replied as he came back and approached Connor, again. "No, just you and me…and the Lord," the priest added, nodding his head toward the tabernacle in the high altar. Connor furrowed his brow at the priest, then turned and again took in the sight of the high altar, but quickly shifted his eyes to look elsewhere, searching for some trace that his father had really been there with him. The priest asked with some concern, "Are you all right, Son? You…going to be okay?"

Connor thought for a minute. "Yeah," he replied, nodding in conviction, "Yeah, I'm going to be fine." He quickly reached over to gather his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he strided down the aisle and exited the cathedral church.

Meanwhile, straight overhead, Wonder Woman had traced the signal Connor's cycle was transmitting all the way back to the source. As she flew into the vicinity of Stella Maris, she hovered among the Gothic spires and began scanning with her eyes all around the area far below. She spied a figure in black exit the cathedral church and cross the plaza toward what she could identify, even at this distance, was a cycle used by the Legion. She immediately descended toward the Legion's missing vehicle to intercept its rider. Connor had already straddled his cycle and was in the process of fastening the cord of his helmet around his head when Diana unexpectedly dove in from above and came to a halt just a couple of feet above the ground and just a couple of feet away from him. Connor was visibly startled at the sudden intrusion but quickly recovered. As Diana's feet came to a soft landing on the ground, he acknowledged her presence, "Diana…"

"Connor!" Diana called as she stepped closer, "Look, you have to come back with me, now."

"Diana—" Connor began.

But, Diana cut him off. "I know you're hurting right now, and we had no right to keep from you what happened to your father," she said apologetically.

"Diana…" Connor tried again with just as much success.

"But you running away is _not_ helping anything. It isn't going to resolve the situation and it certainly is not going to bring your father back."

"But, Diana, I—"

"Connor, please, just listen to me. Your mother is worried sick, Clark isn't much better, and even Imra was anxious and hurt when you left without so much as a word about where you were going and why or if and when you were coming back, or—"

"Diana!" Connor yelled at her, finally getting her attention, "I know. I was just about to head back to Metropolis."

"You were. Oh…well, good," Diana concurred, if bewildered somewhat.

"By the way," Connor added, expressing his sincere, heartfelt gratitude, "Thanks for coming after me."

Diana nodded in acknowledgement. Clearing her throat audibly, she then offered, "You know, if you want, I can get you and your cycle back to Legion Headquarters much faster than it can."

Connor was sorely tempted to take Diana up on that proposition, but in the end, he decided against it. "That's okay, Diana. I…actually have a lot to think about. The couple of hours it'll take to ride back to the Citadel will help me to clear my head. I'll see you back there." With that, Connor tucked himself neatly into the cycle, engaged the engine and instrument panel, and speeded away. Diana watched him go, not sure of what to make of their exchange. Soon, she took to the air once again, flying back the way she came, on a direct course for the Legion Tower.

_Don't worry, Dad,_ Connor thought to himself as the world blurred by all around him and his cycle, _I'm gonna make you proud._


End file.
